Missing Alice
by teacupsandcyanide
Summary: Alice lives between two worlds, trying to divide her time between her family above and her friends below. But it's like walking a tightrope, and she's about to fall off. Rated Teen for some darker themes. Originally titled We Are All Mad. Eventual AxH
1. Prologue

**A/N (please read):** This is the prologue, (obviously), of a fanfic that is still being written, but I'm going to upload this bit before someone thinks of the same idea. Now, seeing as I've only seen the movie twice, I'm bound to get some details wrong, such as whether they have a gramophone at the tea party or a radio. I just made it a gramophone because I liked the idea, but it could be completely wrong. Just bear with me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just sit here and pretend to know the hell I'm talking about.

* * *

_PROLOGUE – A VERY CRUEL JOKE_

The record was old and scratchy, just like the gramophone it spun on, and the music came out old and scratchy, the singer's voice warbling over the clearing cheerfully, the lyrics mangled.

The same song had been playing all day, and all of the day before, and all of the day before that. This probably had something to do with the fact that it was the only record that the trio owned, which in turn probably had something to do with Thackery's tendency to throw things. It didn't help either that whenever Mallymkun or Tarrant tried to turn it on off they found themselves pelted with an assortment of tea-serving paraphernalia and baked goods.

Usually the music would fade into background noise after the first few plays of the day, but nowadays Tarrant was finding it especially grinding on his nerves. This probably had something to do with the fact that these were the days during one of Alice's departures, and the Hatter was finding that everything ground on his nerves just a little bit more than it did before the Red Queen's brief but disastrous reign. From broken teacups to cold tea to Thackery's senseless screeching and Mally's darting, concerned looks at Tarrant when she thought he wasn't watching; the Scotsman was far more easily set off and more prevalent in him than he should have been. Even just a few moments ago when Thackery had hurled a fork at his hat, Tarrant had found himself suddenly standing and shouting in a thick and threatening mix of brogue and Outlandish. Thackery had promptly fallen out of his chair, shrieking and giggling, whilst a desperate Mally had been forced to stab Tarrant in the finger to knock him out of it.

'Hatter!' she had shouted, hanging from his lapels. 'Calm down!'

She had taken Thackery home, casting one last irritatingly worried glance over her shoulder as she left the clearing.

Now the Hatter sat alone at the head of the three mismatched tables surrounded by their mismatched chairs and cluttered with their mismatched teacups and teapots, sucking on his bleeding finger forlornly and missing Alice.

He spent a lot of time missing Alice now, and he couldn't help but notice the dull ache in his chest whenever he thought of her, or the sick worry that was crawling in the pit of his stomach. It had been so long since her last visit, and the chest-ache and the worry-sickness were increasing with every day of her prolonged absence. To almost everyone's surprise she had managed to keep her promise after the battle for Underland; she had returned. Tarrant could clearly remember sitting here many, many, many days ago, in the exact same chair and probably with the exact same lost-pet expression on his face, missing Alice. Mallymkun and Thackery had suddenly fallen mysteriously silent, and he had looked up to see an oddly lumpy figure appearing from the shadows of the trees surrounding the clearing. Her blonde hair had come loose of its sensible, professional bun, falling in a rather charming tangle around her face; she was clutching her dirtied, dark blue dress around her, practically wading in it, but she still smiled as she met his eyes.

'You wouldn't happen to have any ulpelkuchun on you, would you?'

'Alice.' His wide grin matched hers as he rose from his chair, tipping his hat to her. 'Would you care to join us? We were just starting tea.'

As soon as she had gotten a nibble of ulpelkuchun into her and grown back into her dress she had dropped into the seat beside him and assaulted them all with eager questions about how every Underlander she could name was getting along. She had stayed with them all day, chatting and laughing and throwing food, but when the sky darkened overhead she stood.

'I really must be going home now,' she had said, brushing cake cream off her skirt with twinge of sadness. Tarrant had stopped laughing at that, and Mally and Thackery had exchanged a glance.

'Thank you for the tea,' she smiled, 'I've had so much fun today, but I really must go.'

'But you haven't visited the White Queen yet,' said Tarrant, jumping to his feet, knocking over several plates and china tea cups and not caring, 'yes, she'll be awfully happy to see you, Alice, and she'll be awfully sad if she finds out she's missed you. And the Tweedle Twins too, and McTwisp and Chessur …'

He saw her hesitate for a moment, before looking up at him, her mouth quirking.

'I'll have to come back another day,' she said regrettably, 'I'll see them another time. But tell them I'm sorry I had to go …'

Tarrant could barely believe it. She had come back just to leave them again?

She seemed to guess his thoughts, and touched his arm softly.

'Don't worry, I will come back,' she promised, 'I'll always come back.'

'And you won't forget me?'

'I won't forget you.' She dropped her hand and turned away, starting back towards the door and the Otherland.

'Alice!'

She had stopped, looking back at him.

'Fairfarren,' he said, curling his fingers in small, sad wave.

'Fairfarren, Hatter,' she had echoed, waving back with one last smile before disappearing into the darkness.

She had returned many times after that – at first she would stay for only one day, but in later visits it sometimes stretched out into two or three blissful days, travelling around Underland visiting old friends and making new ones. Tarrant had done his very best to make her every moment in Underland wonderful, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might one day …

But now he sat here, brooding and melancholy, missing Alice and scaring his friends away. Of course he wasn't constantly sad when Alice was away, he was just mostly sad – quieter than usual with a much shorter temper. And with this longest absence of absences he had gotten worse and worse, feeling more insane than usual and rather like an uncontrollable monster for frightening poor Thackery so – it was no wonder Alice didn't want to be around him.

And then apart from the sadness was the worry, and he had recently decided that the worry was far, far worse. It was the worry that made him short tempered and edgy, with one knee jumping under the table constantly and his hands always fidgeting. For it hadn't escaped his notice that every time Alice came back, she was different. The changes were slight and barely there, but there all the same, and there enough to give cause to worry – a tiny wrinkle in the corner of her eye, her hair growing in length, the tiniest change in height and a certain richness to her laughter that he was certain hadn't been present before. Alice was quite a bit older than she had been when she had slain the Jabberwock, and he couldn't help but remember that she had another life up in the Otherland, a life that was continuing all the time and a life that was eventually going to lead her to death. The Otherland was taking her away from him, little by little, and he knew there was always a small part of her secreted up there, in her sister and her mother and her work and the few close friends she would tell him about. He knew how much her mother wanted her to marry too, and how much her mother wanted grandchildren, and he couldn't help but think that what her mother wanted didn't include childhood friends from a fantastical world. How much longer did they have before she had to grow up?

Perhaps that was it, he mused to himself now. Perhaps his time had run out.

He was about to throw a spoon at the gramophone to shut it up now that Thackery had gone, when something blue caught in the corner of his eye. On reflex he straightened in his chair, his bright green eyes fixed on the shadow moving amongst the trees outside the clearing.

'Alice?' he whispered hopefully.

There was a pause, and after a moment she emerged from the trees, hair just as bedraggled as usual and soft smile in place.

'Alice!' he shouted, waving at her madly. 'You came back!'

'I came back for you, Tarrant,' she laughed, and his heart glowed. She was picking up her skirts and walking to him as he rose from the table, his arms extended for the routine greeting hug.

'How are you?'

'Oh, I'm splendid now that you're here, Alice,' he babbled happily, beaming as she neared him, 'and I am so very, very glad you've come back, I hoped you'd come back, I knew you'd come back, you said you would come back and I had to believe it, you know, or - or I would have gone …'

He faltered, still reaching out to her, as her smile spread into a grin – a far too wide grin full of mischief and empty of Alice.

'… Mad?' she finished. Her dark brown eyes suddenly glowed a luminescent turquoise green, the pupils dilating to slits and shrinking even further as she suddenly evaporated into thin air, thin wisps of smoke the only trace of her.

Tarrant stared at the air she had occupied, one hand still stretched out. Then the realisation hit him with agonising force, snapping him in two and letting the carefully checked anger, loneliness, despair and frustration that had been building up inside him for too many days loose.

'_CHESSUR!_' he roared, the brogue hitting the air harshly. '_COME BACK HERE, YOU FRUMIOUS SLACKUSH SCRUM!_'

A grin appeared in the air above his hat, closely followed by two lamp-like blue-green eyes and a smooth chuckling sound.

'Now, now, Tarrant,' said the Cheshire Cat mock-reprovingly, 'temper, temper; you'll lose it if you're not careful.'

With a bellow of rage he sent three plates and a tea cup hurtling with all his might at the now materialised head of the Cat, which swiftly disappeared before the collision.

'Already lost it, I see,' Chessur noted, reappearing full-bodied over Tarrant's shoulder. The Hatter made to hit him, but again missed when he vanished with the slight _voosh_ of air filling a suddenly empty space. He reappeared in one of the chairs, sniffing at a stone cold cup of tea momentarily before again disappearing and taking up space midair a foot away from the table.

'I do a good 'Alice' don't I, Hatty?' he grinned, preening as he floated along on his back, arms tucked behind his head.

This was more than Tarrant could bear. More consumed by his own rage than he could ever remember being, he hurled plate after plate after pot after cake, cup and scone at Chessur as he popped in and out of existence in the air, laughing and rolling.

'_SLURKING URPAL SLURVISH RURPIST WYTH YE HID UP YE SCUT!_'

Chessur stopped as Tarrant ran out of things to throw, surveying the wreckage the man was now surrounded by – the shattered remains of china scattered everywhere, crumbs exploded over the ground and cutlery embedded in the grass. His grin slipped ever so slightly.

'Oh, Tarrant, you do overreact,' he said lazily, regaining his self assurance, 'you know it was only a little joke.'

Tarrant glared at him, breathing hard, hands clenching and unclenching and his eyes a dangerous fiery orange.

'You take everything so personally, and besides,' continued the cat, not fully noticing his friend's anger, 'you need to lighten up. All this moping and carry on, I'm sure it's no good for your remaining sanity.' He grinned even wider, his head spinning a slow three-sixty and floating down, face to face with him.

The growl started deep and low in Tarrant's throat, bursting out of his mouth violently as he leapt forwards, ploughing straight through the half-materialised Chessur and charging at the tables, upturning them one by one, sending chairs flying, still ranting and raging in old Outlandish, and underneath all the pure, undone anger, feeling like such a fool for ever hoping she would come back for _him_. What did a hatter have to offer her? Some riddles and some wonders and his own insanity...

'My, oh my,' muttered Chess, his eyes widening at the chaotic scene, 'I think I've rather upset him. You won't get her back if you keep on like this, Tarrant,' he added more audibly to the Hatter, who ignored him and instead continued to rip the furniture apart, stomping on the china and smashing it even further. With that Chess disappeared with one final gasp of shifting air, leaving Tarrant to wreak havoc upon everything in his sight.

And that was where Mally found him the next morning, curled up amongst the debris, bleeding from lying atop a bed of teacup shards and sleeping with the closed, tear-streaked face of a child which has screamed itself to an exhausted sleep.

* * *

A/N: This was in some ways an exercise to see if I can pull the characters off, so reviews on whether they're in character or not are even more appreciated than usual. I know the Hatter went kind of ballistic in this, but I think if a friend played a trick like that on me I'd be pretty damn miffed too. Anyway, I'm getting down to writing this; I've almost finished planning and I'm about to start chapter one


	2. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland

A/N: Sincere apologies for the massive delay between chapters, and it gets worse – this chapter too is uploaded before I've edited it properly and been satisfied and blah, blah, blah; I'm still writing the whole story but I'm nearing finishing. I could whine about how much work I've been buried under during the last month or so, and how my USB broke and I had to start from scratch, but you guys have Heard It All Before, and That's What They All Say. –shrugs-

Anyway, rambling. I uploaded this chapter to please a friend who I had most ungraciously wronged, so Josie, this is for you. Don't shout at me.

Disclaimer:

'Tis the word of the Walrus,

I heard him declare,

This belongs to the Dodo,

And not the brown Hare.

* * *

_CHAPTER ONE – ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND_

Alice was never really the same after her almost-engagement party, and it didn't escape her mother's notice. There was something vivid about her, something that if called upon to accurately describe, Helen would be unsure how to put it. Perhaps it was something in her eye – a spark and a life that wasn't there before – or perhaps something in the way she walked and held herself taller, more relaxed; maybe it was the way she spoke with the same gumption Helen could recall her having as a child, before her father's death? Whatever the difference was, Alice seemed so much … Helen couldn't find a word to pin it down with.

Her daughter's refusal to marry Hamish Ascot, (nearly over a year ago), had led to some enmity between Helen and Lady Ascot, who seemed to have assumed that Alice thought herself too good for Hamish, which of course as his mother she was dutifully offended by, linking this offence with Helen Kingsleigh and becoming routinely forgetful when it came to inviting her to social gatherings. Now Helen only saw her occasionally when Alice's work with the lady's husband brought them together, and she didn't really mind too much as she'd never been partial to Lady Ascot's often snobbish company; although she couldn't help but feel strangely left out when holding her own receptions and having all or most of the guests talking about something that had happened at _Lady Ascot's_ tea party the Wednesday before, tittering about awfully funny jokes that had taken place and not bothering to fill Helen in at all. Even more inconveniencing was that some of Lady Ascot's friends had also cast her out now, narrowing down the connections Helen had at her disposal to attempt to find a suitable match for her youngest daughter.

Not that Alice should have had a hard time securing a husband – her looks and her disposition were charming enough, and the family Kingsleigh had always been reasonably well respected, but she lacked etiquette of any kind and since the disastrous garden party last March she had gotten worse; becoming far too daring and talkative at dinners and tea parties, refusing to wear her stockings, corset or gloves more than ever, and acting rather eccentrically in public. She also worked now, which was considered extremely odd for a woman, especially one not yet twenty, and with a _trading company_; and the suitors nowadays usually steered clear of Alice Kingsleigh. Helen had been hoping that Alice might meet some tall, dark stranger on her business trip to China and be swept off her feet, but the girl had returned with as bare a ring finger as ever, loaded with presents for them all and full of excitement for the future of the company. The trading had been successfully set up, and the profit from it was evident.

Sometimes Helen would invite some eligible gentleman over for dinner, but Alice would behave so unladylike and opinionated, spending the time asking every man the same silly riddle and sighing when he answered, unsatisfied with every response, however intelligent.

Margaret, Helen's eldest, was particularly embarrassed by "Alice's antics", as she called them. She seemed to think that her sister was being purposefully difficult, although Helen knew this wasn't so, and tried to explain it to her.

'She just wants to choose the right one.'

'It's like she's experimenting.'

'Well, you know how curious she's always been …'

'But, Mother! Working in trade! She'll be –' her voice would drop to a horrified whisper here '– she'll be _marrying_ a _tradesman_ next!'

Margaret, happily married for almost three years now, couldn't understand Alice at all. She was of the opinion that marriage brought love, not the other way around, and that once married happiness was constant. She was convinced it would do Alice some good to be married, and was even more determined than Helen to find a husband for her. It was almost as if Margaret could no longer imagine anything beyond being someone's wife.

However, sometimes Helen would catch something distinctly off about her daughter's marriage, to be precise the husband, Lowell. A few times now she'd had to convince herself she'd imagined that glint in his eye as he talked with a young lady at a dance; training herself to block out the image of his gaze following another woman as she walked past.

Yes, both Helen and Margaret wanted very much to see Alice married. But amidst all the kerfuffle and scramble to get it done quickly, as if the girl was a nice piece of fruit that would soon go off, neither of them had really considered what Alice herself wanted.

* * *

'Alice! Alice, dear!'

The young woman in question was currently nine feet off the ground up an ancient pine tree, crouching low on a branch and pulling another one down over herself to camouflage her bright blue dress. She really was supposed to be too grown up to be climbing in trees, which was the main reason she had hoisted herself up there in the first place. Now she had discovered it made an excellent hiding place from her mother, who for some reason never suspected Alice would be hiding in a tree.

'Alice, please come out, Mr Stanwick will be here soon!'

Alice briefly considered simply staying in the tree and seeing what would happen.

_Perhaps they would find me,_ she thought, _but what if I still didn't come down? Maybe they would just set up the chairs and tea table underneath the tree, and Mr Stanwick would have to shout up to me to keep up his small talk._ She giggled a little at the idea of skinny, awkward Mr Stanwick with his big nose and big ears and his fussy pigeon grey suit, trying to shout up to her in his nasally little voice.

_Ah,_ said another little voice in her head, _but if it was small talk it wouldn't reach you so high up, and you'd be quite safe from his comments about the weather and the state of the roads._

Alice thought this amusing and sound reasoning, and was entertained by it a few moments more while her mother disappeared back into the house. After waiting a few minutes so she was certain she couldn't see her spying from any windows, Alice climbed down and slid expertly to the grass below the tree, dusting the bark chips off her skirt and heading inside to change. As much as the idea of hiding in a pine tree for the entirety of Mr Stanwick's visit was beguiling, the idea of squatting in a pine tree all afternoon was not, and as entertained as she had been by the notion, this world was not governed by such rules, and she knew she wouldn't get away with it.

Once fresh and clean, she found her mother wandering around the garden still looking for her.

'Oh, there you are! Alice, dear, where have you been?' Helen said irritably, tucking stray golden hairs out of her daughter's face. Alice shrugged in reply, batting her hand away.

'Do I have to do this?' she pleaded, opting to give it one last shot before surrendering the sunny afternoon.

'Now, remember to be polite, Alice, and don't talk with your mouth full like last time,' said Helen, dodging the question and brushing her dress down instead.

'He asked me a question, and you told me to answer straight away,' said Alice, trying not to sound sulky, edging away from her mother's tidying fingers.

'Not – Alice, hold still! Not when you've got a mouthful of bread-and-butter, please; now turn around.' Helen motioned with a finger.

Alice obeyed and turned slowly, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Helen pulled them down, tucked one last stubborn bit of hair behind her ear, and then stood back.

'There. That will do.' She sighed and half smiled, reaching out to touch Alice's cheek. Alice frowned grumpily and trudged away, leaving Helen pursing her lips on the lawn.

When Mr Stanwick tumbled out of his carriage clumsily, knocking his head on the roof and stumbling onto the gravel of the drive, he saw Alice waiting with her mother by the door and looked her up and down, like a man who had been served a dodgy looking and slightly wonky sandwich.

'Mrs Kingsleigh, Miss Kingsleigh,' he said, wrinkling his nose and bowing so deeply it almost touched the gravel.

'Mr Stanwick, welcome,' said Helen graciously, waving him into the house, 'I trust your journey was pleasant?'

'The roads were quite clogged today,' he sniffed and shot another look at Alice, as if this were somehow her fault. He turned to follow Helen into the back garden, and Alice poked her tongue out at his back.

The afternoon began to trickle away excruciatingly slowly, as it always does when one is terribly bored, and Alice was beginning to zone out, floating away from the conversation in the memory of her last visit to Wonderland.

She had returned to the strange, marvellous world five times in the year since slaying the Jabberwock, and with every visit she found herself loving it more and more. Though at first she had been worried she wouldn't be able to get back, McTwisp had appeared only three days after her return from her eight month trip to China, tapping on his fob watch and trying not to smile, and Alice got the feeling that he had been hanging around her world waiting for her for some time. He had lead her down the rabbit hole, (now at the bottom of her own grounds), once more, teaching her to hold onto her dress after drinking the shrinking potion pishsalver, so that she could grow straight back into it on the other side. And once inside Wonderland, the first place she had visited was the clearing where the Tea Party was always held, and after tramping through the forest for some unknown, flickering amount of time looking for it, she had found it just as she remembered, a colourful jumble of mismatched objects and people, with Thackery and Mally shouting and laughing and throwing scones about, and at the head of the three joined tables the Hatter, his head bowed and face obscured by the achingly familiar top hat. The other two had fallen silent when they noticed her hanging back in the trees uncertainly, and the Hatter had slowly looked up. Alice had felt a warm, wide smile break over her face as she recognised every feature that she had been missing; the overlarge green eyes, the carroty corkscrew hair, and lastly the gap in his teeth as he grinned, getting to his feet with a tip of his hat and inviting her to tea.

Once again, when the time came for her to leave, he seemed the saddest to see her go, and when she came back he was waiting with a day planned full of wonders for her to see and do and meet. When not in Wonderland, working at some dreary task Alice would often be assaulted by a severe longing to see him or talk to him, to gain some of his unique perspective on her troubles and some of his advice.

The last time she'd seen him they had visited the Tweedle Twins, who had been quite chuffed to see Alice and had trapped them both for a very long poetry recital –

'_Alice_.'

'Hmm?' Alice looked up from stirring her cold tea repeatedly.

'Mr Stanwick is talking about his infestation,' said her mother sweetly, her mouth a thin line.

'Infestation?' echoed Alice, alarmed.

'Of mice,' said Mr Stanwick, dabbing at his mouth with a very neatly folded napkin, 'nasty, nibbling little creatures. Found a whole nest of them underneath the floorboards. About five leapt on me; one bit my ear,' he added, very offended by this.

Alice had sudden vision of Mallymkun leaping onto Mr Stanwick and biting him on one flapping ear and had to stuff bread-and-butter into her mouth to prevent snickering, earning herself a reproving look from her mother and another wrinkle of the nose from Mr Stanwick.

'Yes, well,' he said, raising an eyebrow at her slightly bulging cheeks, 'five leapt on me, crawling up my trouser leg and almost biting –'

He stopped again as Alice choked on her bread, frowning at her. When he was sure he had her undivided attention once more, he gave a little superfluous clearing of the throat, and continued.

'So I've set up lots of lovely traps with bits of cheese,' he said, looking rather pleased with his own cunning, 'and when –'

'Traps?' mumbled Alice through half a mouthful of bread, horrified.

'Yes,' Mr Stanwick said crossly, not liking her interruptions at all, 'and when the little devils go to grab the cheese – SNAP!' he shouted triumphantly, slamming a hand down onto the table and making Helen jump.

The image of brave little Mally that flashed through Alice's head now was not at all pleasant, and she swallowed her bread with a loud gulp.

From there the tea went decidedly downhill, as Alice became very ill-disposed towards Mr Stanwick, getting shorter and shorter with him, assailing him with too many bad-tempered questions and skirting around his own.

'I heard you work in trade, Miss Kingsleigh,' he said, making it very clear just what he thought of _that_.

'I heard you live off your father's work,' she quipped back, making it just as clear what she thought of _him_, 'and never done a day's work in your life; is it true, Mr Stanwick?'

'Well, I never …' he spluttered.

'And that you have more money than you can spend in your life, yet you still wouldn't donate to the church when it appealed to you, even though it's falling down and – mmph!'

Helen had clapped a hand over Alice's mouth, absolutely scandalised. Mr Stanwick had turned bright red, puffing up more and more with every word Alice said.

'I'm sorry, Mr Stanwick –' started Helen fretfully.

'Don't be, my dear woman,' he snapped, jerking to his feet angrily. 'I can see I'm wasting my time – not good enough … I think I'll be going, thank you.'

But there was no gratitude in his tone as he stalked out of the house; Helen released Alice and launched herself out of her seat, trailing after him apologising and begging him to come back.

'Mr Stanwick, please! She's just a little headstrong …'

Left alone at the tea table, Alice slumped her chair, scowling straight ahead at nothing and annoyance at the silly, pompous man burning steadily in her stomach.

Helen returned a few minutes later, looking thoroughly worn out and furious with her.

'Just one man, Alice! Can't you at least be nice to them?' she said, starting to clear up the plates, clashing the china pieces against one another noisily.

'But he wasn't nice to me at all!'

'He was polite!'

'No, he wasn't! We couldn't stand each other!'

'You can't stand any of them!'

'Exactly,' Alice retorted, pushing herself out of her chair and storming away down the grounds. After fifteen minutes she started to calm down, but still headed towards the shrubbery that concealed the rabbit hole. She reached it and pushed the bushes aside, staring down into the darkness. It had only been a fortnight since her last visit, but she still felt like escaping, even for just a moment. A moment was all she needed.

She carefully slid into the hole, tugged her hair out of its bun, and let herself fall down into the blackness.

* * *

The months passed in the same fashion; a haze of Margaret and Helen husband-hunting for Alice, Alice rejecting every man that came her way, and Alice secretly disappearing into Wonderland periodically, always returning to her world to find no time had passed. She started to stay in Wonderland for longer amounts of time, travelling around with her friends and seeing things beyond imagination. While time seemed to pass in a warbled kind of way in Wonderland, the days still wore on, and new things still happened. A lake was discovered, at first just south of Marmoreal, then another time further west; it seemed to move around, and it became a hobby of Alice, Mally, Thackery and the Hatter's to look for it, Chessur sometimes joining in if he was particularly bored, (although he was irritatingly good at the game, having the advantage of being able to search one spot after the other without having to travel all of the distance between).

One day whilst playing the game the four of them had split into teams; Mally and Thackery against Alice and the Hatter, (much to Mally's displeasure). Alice and the Hatter had accidentally wandered into the Outlands, too busy chattering and shooting riddles at one another to watch where their feet were taking them, and what they had found there had been quite astonishing. They took their discovery to the White Queen, and Mirana, after some initial confusion as to how to deal with such a thing, had formed quite an attachment, something Alice was rather unaccustomed to seeing from her.

'Everyone is capable of love, Alice,' the Hatter had said quietly, his hands a blur of white lace and cream frill as he created another hat for Mirana's court, 'even the strangest of characters …'

And while time was only wibbly-wobbly in Wonderland, in Alice's world it trudged onwards in a terribly straight line with nothing terribly exciting happening at all, until just under three years after the slaying of the Jabberwock.

Margaret announced herself to be with child.

This news was met with many a shrill female cry of, 'good heavens!' from numerous relatives, and undisguised joyful sobbing from Helen, who had begun to think she would never have grandchildren. Alice, too, was jubilant, hoping this would mean at least one woman off her back about marriage, and with the vision of a little niece or nephew with sweet little blonde curls trotting through her mind constantly on adorably plump little feet she was swept up in the excitement despite herself, chattering away with Margaret for hours on how the child would look, what it would be named and a great many other details that were yet to be. Helen spontaneously took up knitting lumpy pieces of clothing, something which amused both her daughters immensely as they played a game trying to guess exactly what each item was supposed to be. Even Lowell seemed for once more interested in his wife than in other women, staying by her side at all times and helping her out of carriages in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly manner. So great was the anticipation for the child's birth that for almost nine months Alice made not a single trip to Wonderland, her thoughts unusually far from it, engrossed instead in her own world.

And finally, one cold, bitter day in November, Margaret went into labour. Alice waited outside the bedroom staring at the wall, her eyes occasionally turning to Lowell as he paced back and forth; trying to block out the sound of her sister moaning and sobbing, and clinging to the teacup in her hand like a lifeline. Hours later her niece was brought screaming into the world, and she never stopped.

* * *

To say that nobody loved Edith would be incorrect, because her mother and her aunt and grandmother loved her very much. To say they loved her _dearly_ wouldn't be quite correct either though, as there was nothing all that dear about Edith. To be precise, she just wasn't what everyone had been expecting.

The dimple-cheeked blonde cherub that Margaret had imagined never came to be, for Edith was very much the antithesis of a cherub. By the time she was five she was far too talkative for her own good, extremely bad tempered and very hard to train, with straggly, mousey hair and dark eyes under perpetually scowling brows. She spent half her time slouching around the house and shirking her chores and lessons, holding Reading, Writing and Arithmetic in particular disdain, and talking loudly about how much she hated her tutor. The other half she spent at her Aunt Alice's feet, enthralled by the tales she spun; her thin little face as bright as a Christmas tree.

Margaret often found herself anxiously watching Lowell, unsure of what he thought of their daughter. He would sometimes pat her on the head gingerly, as if he was afraid she might bite him, and Margaret frequently caught him giving her an odd, calculating look, as if he himself was still trying to decide whether he liked her or not. Margaret badly wanted him to love Edith; the feeling was almost tinged with a desperation that she couldn't explain. She tried her utmost to make Edith into _something_, a sweet child, or a clever one, but Edith was Edith and she wouldn't be budged. She thought perhaps Alice's fairytales were having an effect on her child, and decided that they were to stop.

* * *

After Edith was born it was as though Alice had been suddenly released from the grip of a spell. One night whilst sitting at her desk writing a very important letter to China an image suddenly flickered in her mind, the colours so bright they blinded her; the image of a madman, orange haired and green eyed, with a gap in his two front teeth, and clever, unbelievably quick, bandaged fingers that slowly lifted his hat to her. She froze in the middle of writing "mercury", staring sightlessly at her page as the ink seeped into the paper, a dark blot growing unchecked.

'Hatter,' she murmured, 'oh, Hatter.'

How could she have almost forgotten? How could she?

'_Don't forget me …'_

Her heart ached suddenly, emotions rushing back to her as if she'd been out of touch with them all these months, locked away in a place where she couldn't feel herself bleeding. Without hesitating she stood, pulling on a coat and slipping out of the house and down to the bottom of the garden.

When she reached the Round Hall she gulped down the pishsalver hastily, grabbing the key as she shrunk, pushing through the door awkwardly and pulling her dress behind her into a night-time Wonderland; tripping as she ran down the well-known path through the dark forest, and finally bursting into the clearing panting and out of breath.

At first she thought the tea table was deserted, and she approached it with a sinking heart, climbing into her usual chair at the end of the last table, to the immediate left of the one the Hatter usually occupied. The sky above was filled with stars, twinkling prettily down at her as she leant back in the armchair, breathing in the familiar scent of bread and tea and sugar. She had somehow thought the Hatter would be here waiting for her as always, but his chair was woefully empty. She sighed, hunching into her armchair, when suddenly from further down the table there came the soft clatter of china. She looked up hopefully – only to see Mallymkun poke her head out of a flower patterned teapot.

'Alice?' she said incredulously, scampering out of the teapot and up the table in a flash, gawking at the young woman with twitching whiskers. Recognition, the hint of something suspiciously akin to relief, and then hot anger rose in her eyes, and she whipped her pin-sword out of her belt, whacking Alice across the knuckles with it before she could react.

'Ouch!' cried Alice, recoiling from the furious Dormouse.

'Where have you been?' exclaimed Mally, glaring at her, 'everyone's been worried sick!'

'I thought … time …'

She gave a cry of frustration, throwing her tiny arms in the air, 'We might have had a falling out with Time, but we still know what _waiting_ feels like, thank you very much! We wait just as long as you do up there in your fancy world of perfect time!'

Alice paled.

'Where's the Hatter?'

'Visiting the White Queen,' said Mally huffily, sheathing her sword but obviously not done with Alice just yet, 'you'll just have to wait for him to come back. He had some hats he needed to take to her.'

'Oh,' was all Alice could say. She rubbed her sore fingers, gazing at Mally reproachfully.

'Don't give me that, you deserved it,' she said firmly, climbing onto a cake rack so as to have easier eye contact with her, 'he's been over the edge even more than usual, and you know how easily upset he is. _And_ he hasn't been making nearly enough hats as he ought to be, he's already always behind in his work because of you, and now you worry him even more by not even showing up when he's planned all these things for you and he's so excited –'

'I have a _life_ in the Otherland!' said Alice heatedly.

'Well, good!' snapped the Dormouse, 'if you like it so much more than here then why don't you stay up there and leave us alone? After all, you're all grown up now, you don't need us anymore!'

'I do need you!'

'You take us for granted!' she shouted, clenching her fists.

Alice was shocked into silence, her mouth hanging slightly ajar, the words biting her. Mally dropped down onto the edge of the cake rack, folding her arms and surveying Alice defiantly.

'You take _him_ for granted,' she said more quietly, blinking her eyes rapidly.

'Mally?'

The Dormouse refused to meet her questioning gaze, staring at the stained tablecloth as if suddenly terribly interested by it.

'I'm sorry, Mally,' said Alice softly, 'really I am.'

'I know,' she said, with tiniest trace of a sniffle. She rubbed frantically at her eyes, and then scurried down from the cake rack and dived into a basket, emerging a moment later with a tiny piece of cake in her hands.

'Here,' she said, thrusting it in Alice's face, 'ulpelkuchun.'

Alice took it and nibbled at it tentatively, having long ago learnt the hard way how strong it was. Gradually she grew back into her dress, until finally she sat at the table normal sized and much more comfortable.

'Thank you.'

Mally nodded gruffly, sitting back down on the tabletop.

'How long will the Hatter be?'

'He should be here by tomorrow afternoon.'

'Tomorrow afternoon?' repeated Alice, aghast.

'Too long to wait?' said Mally, raising a brow.

'... No, I suppose not,' she said, slightly ashamed of herself.

There was small silence, and then Mally said casually, 'I can wait with you, if you like.'

'Oh, yes, please,' smiled Alice, eager for company.

Mally couldn't help but smile back. Maybe Alice wasn't quite as grown up as she'd thought.

* * *

'... And the Hatter ducked!'

'Without even turning around?' gasped Edith, then crossed her arms sceptically to make up for her moment of wide-eyed girlishness, 'I don't believe you.'

'Without even turning around, and he kept on dancing, not even stopping for a moment.'

'That's impossible,' said Edith decisively, being unusually fond of this word for a seven year old, or perhaps just fond of the response it always triggered in her Aunt Alice – the wonderfully soft smile, and the words;

'Only if you believe it is,' Aunt Alice said, her eyes lit with a warmth from the inside.

'... And then what did the Dormouse do?' asked Edith.

'The Dormouse?' said Aunt Alice, still smiling. 'She's one of your favourites, isn't she?'

Edith grinned her incredibly wide grin, nodding.

'There's a smile,' laughed Aunt Alice, cupping her niece's face with both hands as if admiring it, 'where has it been all day?'

'Hiding,' said Edith as Aunt Alice released her, rocking slightly on her crossed legs. Her grin faltered, and she affected a very serious expression, 'Mother doesn't like it.'

'Mother doesn't like your smile?'

Edith shook her head slowly, 'She says it's improper for a little girl. I have too many teeth,' she frowned, covering her mouth and tucking her head onto her chest.

'Contrary-wise,' said Aunt Alice wisely, 'you have just the right amount.'

Edith cracked another grin behind her hands.

'Edith? Edith! There you are.'

The pair looked up as Edith's mother came hurrying over to where they sat together in a patch of rare winter sunshine falling in from Aunt Alice's bedroom window. The sun had come out unexpectedly, braving the winter frost to thaw the remaining flowers slightly.

'Edith, Mr Burbage is here for your lesson.'

Edith caught the frown her mother shot at her aunt with some curiosity.

'I don't want my lesson,' she pouted childishly.

'Off you go, Edith,' said her mother, shooing her out of the room. 'Edith,' she repeated, with a dangerous echo added that did not bode well for the girl.

'Alright!' she sulked as she was near shoved out the door and it was slammed in her face. She pressed her ear to the keyhole; she was so small that she barely had to lean down.

There came some tensed whispers and mutters, before the voices rose slowly in volume.

'I thought we agreed –'

'They're not hurting her,' Aunt Alice was protesting, 'she likes the stories.'

'Well, I don't,' snapped Mother.

'You can't just take them away from her – '

'She's _my_ daughter, Alice! I don't want your nonsense in her mind! And they're not even proper fairytales. All these stories about talking animals and mad people, they're just not suitable for a child; you know she chases every white rabbit she sees now – what if she fell down a hole? And about that cat without a grin …'

'The grin without a cat – '

'Alice, I don't want you telling Edith anymore stories. And especially not about that insane milliner.'

Alice sounded positively insulted by this, 'The Hatter's one of her favourites!'

'And she was speaking in that funny language you've been teaching her at Mrs Dodgson's picnic on Saturday, can you imagine the looks we got? The poor woman thought Edith was swearing at her in Scottish …'

'She loves Wonderland!'

Mother snorted, 'She's obsessed. And so are you.'

'I'm not _obsessed_,' said Aunt Alice indignantly.

'You'll end up just like old Aunt Imogene –'

'Margaret!'

'You'd have to be at least half mad to dream up that place!'

'I _didn't dream_ –' the woman caught herself, 'I mean ... I ...'

There was a horrible pause.

'You what?' whispered Mother, her voice hushed.

Footsteps started towards the door, and Edith raced away down the corridor, concealing herself in a linen cupboard as Aunt Alice stormed past, Mother hot on her tail.

'Alice! Alice, you don't actually _believe_ – Alice!'

The footsteps carried on downstairs, gaining speed and distress, until doors banged further down and Edith tiptoed out of the cupboard and off to her lesson.

At dinner Aunt Alice was quite different, not at all as angry as she had been and so unusually cheerful that her sudden shift in disposition was unnerving. Mother was giving her many a quizzical glance, as if she trying to nut out the strange behaviour.

Some days later, the night she and her parents were set to go home to inner London, Edith crept into Aunt Alice's room and begged her for more stories. The woman paused for a heartbeat before pulling her onto the bed and launching into another wild tale. When she was finished, her cheeks stained faintly pink from relived excitement and a fiery glint of relish in her eye, Edith asked her a question.

'Is it real?'

Aunt Alice gazed down at her, a little child with a serious face and wild hair.

'Yes,' she said softly, then, as if the words were sacred, '_it's all real_.'

And there was never any doubt in Edith's mind that it was.

Many times after that she would hear Mother again trying to put an end to the stories, but no matter how many times the subject was brought up, Aunt Alice refused to cease talking of the strange, mad place she called Wonderland.


	3. The Boating Trip

**A/N (please read): I've finished it. Updates will be regular once a week from now on. Sorry to those who were kept waiting. *guilty cringe* If you ever have any questions or complaints, I'll be happy to answer them.**

Disclaimer:

They told me you had been to see,

(We know it to be true):

That none of this belongs to me,

Does it belong to you?

* * *

_CHAPTER TWO – A BOATING TRIP_

Edith knew full well that Aunt Alice visited Wonderland regularly. She knew when – the days when she would slip away in a bad mood and return only moments later bizarrely light-hearted; laughing at the slightest thing and full of new stories for Edith. She just couldn't work out how. She knew there was a rabbit hole, and she was sure it was in Aunt Alice's garden; whenever she and her family visited the Kingsleigh residence Edith would scour the place for it but never find a single ditch. The garden was nicely kept, with white roses and daises planted here and there, and when she asked Jamie the gardener about rabbit holes he was affronted that someone would think he'd let a _rabbit_ in any garden under his care. So Edith took to following Aunt Alice around whenever she was a bit annoyed, hoping that she would lead her to Wonderland. Of course, this plan didn't work well at all, for when one is annoyed one does not want a seven year old trailing around after them, and Aunt Alice seemed to think Edith wasn't ready for Wonderland yet.

'It will come for you, when you need it, or when it needs you.'

'But I want to go now!' Edith demanded.

'You _want_ to, but you don't _need_ to. Wants and needs are entirely differently things, Edith.'

Edith thought this the height of unfairness. Aunt Alice could go to Wonderland whenever she wanted to, so why couldn't she?

* * *

One day when Aunt Alice returned from a trip to Wonderland, she was acting extremely ... odd. Edith was again visiting their house for a week with her mother while her father was away on business, and as soon as she recognised the familiar signs in her aunt, she had cornered her in the garden and assaulted her with questions of her latest adventure. Usually Aunt Alice was eager to share every detail with her, but this time something was significantly _different_. She didn't even seem to hear Edith's queries, instead she laughed vacantly, the sound skipping and trilling like a musical note; and she seized little Edith in her arms, swinging her around.

'Twinkle, twinkle, little bat,' sung Aunt Alice, a smile melting blissfully onto her face, 'how I wonder what you're at. Up above the world you fly, like a tea tray in the sky ...'

'You're singing it wrong, Auntie Alice!' giggled Edith, wriggling in her grip. Aunt Alice set her down onto the grass again, patting her head vaguely before wandering away, still smiling dreamily.

'Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle ...'

Instead of this strange new mood fading over the next few days as the Wonderland-happiness usually did, it persisted; almost growing stronger each morning as Aunt Alice wafted about the house aimlessly, smiling to herself foolishly and giggling at odd moments.

'What's Aunt Alice doing?' Edith asked her grandmother as she watched the woman waltzing solo across the lawn below from an upstairs window.

Grandmother looked up from brushing the crinkles out of Edith's bed cover and joined her. The secret smirk Edith had frequently seen her exchanging with Mother lately appeared.

'Nothing, Edie,' she replied, in a voice that said that it was plainly _something_. She went to pat Edith's head, and ended up attempting to smooth out the mess of her hair. 'You know how funny Aunt Alice gets sometimes.'

Edith twisted away from her, pushing her hands away.

'She's different this time,' whined Edith resentfully, 'she won't play with me.'

'Aunt Alice is a busy woman, Edith.'

Edith looked down at Aunt Alice pointedly; she was now sitting on the turf playing with a daisy.

'I think something happened in Wonderland,' she said stubbornly.

Grandmother's expression changed instantly.

'Now you mustn't listen to those mad stories, Edith,' she frowned sternly, 'that's all they are – stories.'

'They're real,' said Edith, frowning back at her.

'No, they are _not_,' Grandmother said, raising her eyebrows dangerously.

'They're real, and I believe in them!' snapped Edith, balling her fists.

'Edith Manchester, do not raise your voice at me!'

'I'm not!' she shouted petulantly.

'Edith, I don't want this spoilt behaviour –'

'I'm _not spoilt!_' Edith cried, stamping her foot.

There was no dessert for her that night. She was sent to bed early in disgrace, and rose the next morning surprised to find a stranger in the household.

His name was William Harrison, and he was visiting Aunt Alice on matters concerning the company. If Edith had been older she would have recognised him as a charming, rather handsome man, with rich brown hair and eyes and a pleasant, well-meaning smile, but she only saw a grown up in a very sensible brown suit who was quite bemused to find Aunt Alice much changed from how he remembered her.

Mother and Grandmother seemed quite excited by his visit; Edith thought perhaps they hoped he would knock some sense into silly Aunt Alice – her behaviour was very amusing, and Edith knew how much they hated it when Aunt Alice was amusing. The two of them had been swapping more little giggles and smiles, peeking through the curtains when Mr Harrison and Aunt Alice talked of Business in the garden. The atmosphere in the house was becoming strangely anticipating and hopeful.

One late afternoon Edith came looking for her mother and found her and Grandmother in deep discussion with Mr Harrison on the patio. They looked as though they were doing something they didn't want to be caught doing, so Edith kindly hid behind the door and eavesdropped instead of bursting in.

'You think so?' He was raising his eyebrows at them as they nodded vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.

'I've never seen her act this way,' Grandmother said, her voice low, her eyes darting up to Aunt Alice's open bedroom window, from where nonsensical nursery rhyme singing was floating out into the dusk.

'_I'm a little teapot, at a tea party; there is the hatter ...'_

'Never in all my life ...'

'Never,' echoed Mother.

'Alice has never given me any indication that she ... well ...' the man blushed, yet there was something kindling in his gaze as he looked up at the window, 'not that I wouldn't ... Alice is very attractive – I mean ...' he stammered hopelessly as the women beside him closed in for the kill.

'You should show her you feel the same,' urged Mother.

'Before someone else steals her away,' egged on Grandmother.

'I – show her I? No ... I don't ...'

The faces either side of him fell theatrically, and he hastily backtracked.

'What I mean is ... I wouldn't know how!'

'We can help,' said Mother so fast her mouth blurred.

Edith frowned to herself, and then turned away and darted up to Aunt Alice's room, almost tripping on the stairs haphazardly.

'_... Dear to me; when I come to visit, we'll have tea, dip me backwards and kiss –'_

'Auntie Alice!' she called, poking her head into the bedroom. Aunt Alice was sitting on her bed drawing as she sang; she looked up almost lazily as she heard Edith.

'Edith!' she said, as if overjoyed to see her. 'Where's your mother?'

'On the patio with Grandmother. They're trying to convince Mr Harrison to marry you.'

'Yes, it was a lovely cake, wasn't it?' she smiled absent-mindedly, adding a few more lines to her drawing. Then she looked up again, as if she'd only just realised Edith was there. She beckoned to her, chuckling to herself.

'Edie, quick, close the door,' she stage-whispered across the room; 'I have a secret to tell you.'

Eyes wide, Edith shut the door and hurried over to Aunt Alice, jumping onto the bed and sitting up next to her.

'What is it?' she whispered just as loudly. 'Is it about ... Wonderland?'

Aunt Alice nodded; her grin spreading, then softening, turning into a shy little smile which drifted across her face gently.

'Have you ever been on a boat, Edith?'

Edith shook her rattail-hair.

'Not even a little one? A little rowboat? Just you and ... maybe a friend?'

Edith shook her head again, confused.

Aunt Alice sighed happily and leant back into her pillows.

'It's wonderful ...You feel warm and cool at once, under the sun and over the water, with a little breeze playing with your hair... and though you might be little scared of falling in too deep, you feel sort of _daring_ ...' Suddenly she leant forward, as if a terrible thought had occurred to her, 'Don't tell Mother now.' It was hard to tell if she meant Edith's or hers. 'They already think I'm mad enough as it is, without them thinking my dearest friend is in ... they don't like it very much, you see.'

'I know,' said Edith very seriously.

'They might take me away, and make me grow up the way they think I should. And if I grow up ... I'm not allowed to go back,' she whispered, this time with a hushed fear that bled into her eyes.

'It's our secret,' promised Edith.

Aunt Alice smiled her soft smile, and Edith grinned her wide, toothy grin.

'Thank you,' she said, touching her knotted hair as if it really were the golden curls of the cherub that never was.

'Even if you were mad,' Edith said, unusually quietly, holding her gaze sincerely, 'I wouldn't mind at all.'

Aunt Alice laughed, seeming to remember something.

'All the best people are mad, you know,' she said conspiratorially.

'Then you are most definitely mad,' grinned Edith.

There was a small, comfortable silence, until Edith decided it had gone for long enough, and said, 'Are you really in love with Mr Harrison?'

Aunt Alice blinked, thrown by this sudden accusation.

'What?' she said, her hand dropping onto the pale blue quilt.

'Mother and Grandmother said you're in love with Mr Harrison.'

She shook her head, as if trying to it clear of water.

'Mr Harrison?' she laughed. 'Of course not!'

'Good,' nodded Edith importantly, 'I think he's a terrible choice.'

'Edith!' Aunt Alice scolded, trying not to smirk, 'He's very ... amiable.'

'He's an awful bore. I bet he doesn't even know what futterwacken is.'

Aunt Alice smiled again at that, then looked troubled.

'Mother and Margaret are at him, aren't they?' she said, heaving an exasperated sigh and pushing herself off the bed, 'I'll have to go down and stop them. Give them ten minutes and they'll have him convinced he's in love with me too.'

Edith trotted after her as she descended the stairs and followed the sound of voices from the patio.

'... And take this. Oh, Alice, dear!' Grandmother seemed extremely pleased to see her, as did Mother – Mr Harrison was still trapped between them, gulping at Aunt Alice's sudden appearance. The woman herself was unimpressed, arms crossed over her chest.

'We were just talking with Mr Harrison about Shakespeare,' rushed Mother, getting to her feet in unison with Grandmother. She took a protesting Edith by the shoulder and yanked her inside, Grandmother following soon after and slamming the door shut so forcefully Edith couldn't help but worry she wasn't going to open it until the desired results were achieved. Edith hunched slightly to peek through the keyhole, but was swiftly pulled upstairs by her mother and sent to her room for some unexplained reason, while the other two women scurried down the hall to a window where they would have a good vantage point.

* * *

'Alice.'

'William.'

'Er ...' It seemed that was about as far as he had planned.

Alice took pity on him.

'William ...'

'Alice, I – I have something to say,' he interrupted loudly, gathering his resolve.

Alice open and shut her mouth like a goldfish, at a loss as to how to stop him before things got horrendously awkward. He lunged forward suddenly and grasped her hand, making her jump; her free hand flying to her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

'I was talking – to – to your mother and your – your sister ... just now,' he added, so as to be sure she was following, 'and ... you see ... the thing is ... we weren't actually talking about Shakespeare.'

'You weren't?' said Alice faintly.

'We weren't,' William said, shaking his head slowly. 'Alice, I've known you for years ... and I've been watching you ...'

'You have?' she said, surprised and not entirely sure how she felt about it.

'I have,' he nodded, blushing like a schoolgirl, 'but I didn't ever think ... dear Alice,' he smiled, and squeezed her hand. 'I didn't ever think you might feel the same.'

She started to shake her head, coming out of her horror-stricken state.

'But now I can see it! So happy to see me – singing! Alice, I've never heard you sing before!'

Alice was now shaking her head so hard she felt like windup doll, but William had gained momentum and he wasn't going to be stopped.

'Of course you'll miss your mother and sister, I know, so I can move down from Liverpool here to London! I know of a lovely house, nice and _large_ – an important trait when starting a family! And we can both support each other; both of us can come home from a long day hard at work, hang up our coats and hats by the door – well, for me just my coat, you know how I can't abide wearing hats –'

'William!' Alice cried, finally finding her voice.

' – and we'll sit down to dinner – perhaps a nice rabbit or hare – and tell each other about our day! Oh, Alice, I never thought I would marry!'

'Mr Harrison!' she exclaimed, 'please! Stop!'

But before he finished, he whipped out a blooming red rose, presenting it to her with a flourish.

'Will you be my wife?'

Alice stared at the red rose, and then stared at him, taking in his friendly brown eyes and his neat brown hair; the faint freckles dusting his nose and his straight, white teeth. And then she shook her head, slowly at first but then faster and faster.

'I can't!' She ripped her hand out of his grip, turning away from his red rose. 'I can't.' She couldn't look at him.

'... You are promised to another?'

Low, rumbling brogue and funny, tittering laughter shot through her mind unbidden, making her stomach flip with butterflies.

'No ...' she said slowly, hating how unsure she sounded.

'Ah. I see.' And for once he sounded like he really did see, and more than Alice was seeing at that.

She heard him stand but still couldn't look at him, feeling her cheeks burning.

'I think I'd best take my rose somewhere else,' he said, his voice full of forced cheerfulness. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you.'

Alice turned suddenly, calling out to him as he left, 'The trading you have –'

'Matters of the heart and matters of business are two very different things,' he said, paused with his back to her. He pushed a hand against the door handle and Alice called out again to him;

'I'm sorry for misleading you.'

He faced her, still red, eyes on the ground at his feet.

'It was not intentional, I hope?'

'_No_,' said Alice, a little too vehemently.

'Well, then,' he winced, 'I wish you the best of luck with ... whoever caused you to sing.'

'I ...' Whatever words had been planning to come out, they stuck in her throat.

'Goodbye, Miss Kingsleigh.'

'Wait!' Alice leapt to her feet, reaching out to stop him, and he twisted around warily.

'I have to ask you a question,' she said, nearing him.

'Yes?'

'Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?' she breathed, the garden seeming very quiet all of a sudden.

'Er ...' He was quite bewildered. For a moment he thought on it, then seemed to come a triumphant conclusion, 'Edgar Allan Poe?'

Alice smiled a smile that was a mix of pity, relief, and a queer sadness.

'You don't understand,' she said gently, 'you couldn't possibly.'

* * *

When the truth was uncovered that evening after Mr Harrison left all a-flutter, not only were Margaret and Helen bitterly disappointed, they were also furious. Little Edith was hanging about off everyone's arm demanding to be told what had happened on the patio, getting gradually louder and louder until she yelled and Margaret dragged her up to bed, kicking and screaming and scowling all the way up the stairs. Helen was left alone with Alice, who was pacing the drawing room like a caged animal.

'Oh, but Alice he was so …'

'So rich?' she said contemptuously.

'You say that like it's shameful!'

'And you say it as though it matters,' she bit back haughtily.

'Matters? Of course it matters! I would have thought this one would be good enough for you; and you're thirty years of age! It's high time you were married! And he was so handsome!'

Alice snorted.

'Don't toss your head like that!' Helen sunk into a chair, her energy seemingly exhausted. 'Oh, Alice, I'm so tired. All I want is to see you settled before …'

'Oh, stop it! I'm tired of you bringing that into every argument, as if you'll – as if you'll be gone next Tuesday!' she cried, tears pricking her eyes. 'And how can I settle when everyone keeps trying to force me into marriages with entirely the wrong men?'

'Well, why don't you help us find the right man? We do try, Alice, again and again, each one more amiable than the last, and the truth is we don't know what you want and I don't think you do either!'

There was a strained pause as Alice's eyes flickered around the room; looking for an escape route, from the cream curtains to the cream walls to the immaculate cream couches.

'Alice.'

The wide, tearful brown eyes flitted back to Helen's.

'What do you want?' she said softly.

And ever so slowly, Alice began to back away, out of the drawing room and into the hall, her eyes finally breaking free from Helen's pleading gaze as she turned tail and ran.

On the way to the front door she almost bowled over little Edith, who had obviously crept back downstairs and resumed her usual habit of listening at doors.

'Alice!' Helen came hurrying down the hall, her shadow casting long and thin from the meager light spilling out from the gas lamps in the drawing room, disappearing as she stepped into the darkness of the hall.

'Aunt Alice? Where are you going?'

Alice didn't answer, her white hands shaking as she fumbled with her thick coat, her face closed and turned away, unreadable in the dark.

'Go to bed, Edith; MARGARET!' called Helen, trying to usher the child away.

'Why is Aunt Alice going out? It's raining,' said Edith in confusion, peeping out from between her grandmother's arms at Alice's silhouette, busying itself with buttoning up its coat, slim and eerie against the blue gloom from the windows set into the front door.

'Alice,' Helen said breathlessly, 'where on earth are you going?'

Alice turned to her, her coat buttoned and her hand on the doorknob.

'I know exactly what I want,' she replied, her voice shaking only the tiniest bit. With that she plunged into the downpour outside, flinging the door open as though leaping from a jail cell.

'She's gone round the bend!' gasped Edith, her nightgown sweeping as she was suddenly released by Helen, who had darted forwards the moment Alice had opened the door.

'Alice!' As she reached the door it slammed shut in her face violently, blown by the furious wind. She turned the handle frantically, fighting against the gale outside. Suddenly she felt small hands pushing the door underneath her, and glanced down to see little Edith putting all her weight against the door.

'MOTHER!' she bellowed, and Helen was as amazed as always that her tiny body could hold such volume. 'HELP!'

As if heeding her cries the door flew open and both Helen and Edith tumbled forwards into the dark, falling painfully on the brickwork under the door, and Helen felt her ankle give way with a sickening crack. Younger and spritely, Edith scrambled to her feet, sprinting away into the downpour after Alice's billowing form.

'AUNT ALICE! TAKE ME WITH YOU! TAKE ME WITH YOU!'

'Edith!' choked Helen, her ankle shot through with pain, 'Edith!'

'You can't leave without me!' the child was screaming, both her and Alice disappearing from sight, 'YOU CAN'T!'

'Edith, Alice! Come back!'

She heard a commotion behind her, and felt Margaret pull her up gently by the waist; she cried out as the pain in her ankle intensified.

'Mother, you have to come inside!'

'The girls, they've run off, Margaret!'

'I know, I know,' she soothed, hoisting her to her feet. 'Alice may be as wild as Edith, but she won't let harm come to her. I'll fetch Jamie and Josephine, and I'll go out myself once I see to your foot.'

'No, Margaret,' protested Helen in utmost distress, 'you didn't see Alice, she's not in her right mind, please; you have to go after her now!'

'After I see to your foot, Mother,' she repeated firmly. 'Come now, inside.'

Once Helen was propped up on the couch with her foot sticking absurdly in the air, Margaret left the room to call the maid and the gardener as she'd promised, returning a few moments later looking as though she was pleased she was handling the situation so well.

'They'll be back in less than twenty minutes, I'm sure,' she said, inspecting Helen's foot calmly.

'No … Margaret …' Helen moaned, 'something isn't right … Alice is going somewhere, and Edith _knows_ …'

Neither Jamie nor Josephine was back within twenty minutes. They were not back within the next two hours. Still Margaret was infuriatingly unruffled by the ordeal, while Helen begged her to go out and aid the search.

'I'm sure two people are more than capable of finding a couple of headstrong girls …'

By the time midnight was striking on the grandfather clock Helen had worked herself up into such a frenzy that Margaret pulled out the smelling salts.

While her ankle was impaired, her hearing certainly was not, and when Helen heard the telltale creak of the back door she sat up abruptly, not caring about the multiple stabbing pains in her injured foot.

'Alice?' she called.

Margaret looked up from the book she was reading to see Jamie enter the drawing room, dripping wet and completely soaked through, cradling in his arms a small, wet body in a white nightgown.

'Edith!' both women cried, and immediately Margaret's book fell to the floor as she leapt for her daughter, shaking her by the shoulders.

'Edith! Wake up!'

'Miss!' gasped Jamie, trying to pull the child back to him.

Helen sat transfixed in horror, as the still, white body with its trailing, knotted hair flailed like a rag doll. Then suddenly it recoiled, and coughed. She had never been so glad to hear the sound.

'Edith!' sobbed Margaret, near choking the girl as she clasped her to her chest.

Edith still didn't open her eyes; shivering violently and as pale as her nightgown, the ghost of a frown lingering on her damp face.

'I found her curled up underneath that big old pine tree out back,' said Jamie, wiping back the strands of greying hair that were plastered to his face, 'thought she were a little white rabbit at first, so tiny she is.'

'Where's Alice?' asked Helen quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

Jamie looked at her, twisting his cap in his hands.

'Josie's looking for her,' he replied.

Margaret ceased her crying; Edith had opened her eyes.

'Edith!' she gasped, 'are you alright?'

Edith nodded and looked from the dripping Jamie to Helen lying on the couch to Margaret, wide eyed and fearful.

'Edie. You have to tell us. Do you know where Aunt Alice is?'

A phantom flitted behind the girl's eyes.

'She fell.'

Helen stifled her cry with her hands.

'Where did she fall, Edith?' said Margaret, her tears falling thick and fast, her voice cracking.

Edith shook her head silently, and then mumbled, 'Secret.'

'You – you have to tell us, Edith. Aunt Alice might be ... she might be hurt.' Margaret bit her lip desperately, the arms that held her daughter quivering. 'Where did she fall?'

Edith hesitated, fiddling with the strings of her gown. She looked up, her eyes full of longing.

'Wonderland,' she sighed.


	4. The Deterioration of the Overland

_CHAPTER THREE – THE DETERIORATION OF THE OVERLAND_

Edith refused point blank to help with the search.

'She's not missing,' she said stubbornly, 'she's in Wonderland.'

'Don't talk about that, Edith,' said Mother sharply, glancing at Grandmother worriedly.

'I saw her fall –'

'Edith!'

The police had been informed, which Edith thought was very silly when they could be spending their time looking for someone who actually needed to be looked for. Edith knew where Aunt Alice went when she was upset, and somehow inside her she knew that this time she wasn't coming back. And while a part of her missed her aunt terribly, she knew that she was much happier in the other world; had seen it etched on her face every time she had returned.

Now that Aunt Alice was gone Father seemed to be going away on more and more business trips; Edith told herself he was so upset about her disappearance that he was distracting himself with work.

'Where's Father?' she asked when she came down from her lesson one day.

'Away on business,' answered Mother, her mouth pulled tight like the threads of the embroidery she was sewing.

'He's always away on business,' Edith complained loudly.

'Lower your voice,' said Mother.

Edith heard her crying at night sometimes, when Father was away. She would argue with herself as to whether to comfort her or not. One night the comforting side won, and she slipped out of bed and lit a candle, padding down the corridor on cold feet; trying not to be afraid of the shadows flickering against the walls. When she reached her mother's bedroom door she found it ajar, and was about to push it all the way open when she heard frenzied whispering on the other side. For a moment she was frightened by it, until she realised that Mother was praying.

'… Please, Lord … bring her back … protect her and shelter her, wherever she may be … please … I'll do anything; I'll give you anything …'

But either God didn't hear her, or God didn't care, because the police never found anything; neither a whisper nor a clue to Aunt Alice's whereabouts.

Almost a year after her disappearance, a constable visited the house. Edith peeped into the drawing room to see him sitting on the couch, on knee jumping up and down and one hand fiddling with his large moustache nervously.

'I'm afraid we've been unable to find a single thing, Ma'am,' he was saying to a pale, tired-looking Grandmother, 'she just seems to have … vanished.'

Grandmother didn't look up, gazing into her teacup as if she was looking for some secret meaning to it.

'And, er …' he continued, 'we're afraid we just can't keep looking. We've not a single lead ...'

Her head snapped up, bloodless and stricken.

'You're giving up?'

'Oh, we'll keep an eye out for her,' he said hastily, 'but … er … we don't have the resources, or the time, to look for someone who doesn't want to be found. Or can't be?'

'Can't be?' echoed Grandmother hollowly.

'Perhaps not,' he said gently.

As another year fell away underneath them, Grandmother grew thinner and thinner, and Mother's crying became a nightly occurrence.

Edith lay in bed listening to the sobbing down the hall, a hot, burning fury coursing through her violently; fury at her father. Fury at her father for not being there when she needed him; fury at him for not being there at all; fury at him for leaving her to support the combined weight of Mother and Grandmother all on her own; fury at him for neglecting his wife. Edith, too, knelt beside her bed bargaining with anyone in the sky who would listen – if I don't eat for one day, Mother will stop crying; if I can run to the end of the drive in eight seconds, Grandmother will smile.

Her bargains never worked.

'Why won't Mother stop crying?' she asked her Grandmother.

Grandmother sighed, looking up from the book she was pretending to read and studying her granddaughter with pitying eyes.

'She's up all hours crying at night. She's always sad,' said Edith, squirming slightly under the gaze.

There was a pause, as Grandmother swallowed carefully, then said, 'Your mother wasn't always like that.'

'I know,' said Edith, 'usually she goes to bed early and makes sure I do too.'

'No, I mean ...' she blinked, swallowing delicately, 'she wasn't always ... she used to be a very different person, your mother.'

'A different person? I don't remember it.'

'It was a long time ago now.'

'When did she change?' asked Edith, confused. 'When Aunt Alice left?'

Grandmother seemed to stifle a shudder, looking away momentarily.

'Long before that, even,' she smiled tightly, looking back at her with wet eyes, 'she was ... wonderful, your mother. So full of life. So fun. So kind.'

'So ...' Edith puzzled over this, 'what went wrong? When did she change?'

'When you –' The older woman bit back the words hastily, for how can one explain to a child that they have never truly known their own mother; and that their own birth was where everything had seemed to go downhill?

Edith frowned at Grandmother, at the words still hanging unsaid in the air.

Another year; and the crying began to fade. Father was still away on business most of the time, but Mother stopped crying. Edith prayed it wouldn't start again.

* * *

One day whilst sketching a wobbly-looking robin, Edith found herself in need of an eraser. She ran upstairs to her father's study, ignoring Mother's reprimand about being quiet on the stairs. Searching through the mass of papers on his desk, she found no eraser, and started to yank the drawers open and rummage through them instead.

Buried at the bottom of the very bottom drawer, hidden underneath a large and boring pile of files, was a large, black velvet box. As attracted by its smoothness as any ten year old would be, she pulled it out from its hiding place and was about to open it when a little voice in her head told her not to.

_It's a bad egg,_ hissed the voice, _don't touch it._

Her little hand trailed over its surface, picking at the latch.

_Don't touch it. It's bad, and it's hidden, and it's in a box, and grown ups put things in boxes when you're not supposed to touch them._

Edith thought suddenly of her Christmas presents, all wrapped up in boxes with bows and coloured paper. It was a present, she realised.

_Not yours. Father got it for somebody, somebody who is not you, and you are not to touch it._

'He won't know,' she whispered to herself, and opened the velvet box. Neither Jack nor demon leapt out at her, but inside the box was a velvet cream cushion, and on the cushion lay a necklace.

It was sparkling at her, comprised of tiny diamonds that winked and twinkled like miniature stars that had been plucked carefully out of the sky and threaded onto the delicate string for sole purpose of finery. Set into the pendant was a large pearl, glowing like the moon.

Edith was captivated by it for some moments; Edith, who never wore jewellery and despised finery. Finally she managed to wrench her eyes from it, and slammed the box shut, jamming it back into the drawer. She ran back downstairs again, forgetting her search for the eraser in her excitement.

Her parents' wedding anniversary was this week.

There was a necklace waiting in Father's study.

The next three days passed far too slowly for Edith's liking and come Saturday she was positively jumpy.

'What has gotten into you, Edie?' said Mother irritably as she watched her help set the table for dinner, dropping the cutlery everywhere and breaking a glass.

'Nothing,' said Edith with a little smile.

When Father arrived home from work, he went straight upstairs to change. When he came down again he had his hands hidden behind his back, smirking at Mother who looked up in bewilderment.

'You didn't think I'd forget our anniversary, did you?'

And with a flurry of pollen and petal he produced from behind his back a bunch of wildflowers. Although pretty enough, they looked ever so slightly withered and battered, and suspiciously like those that Edith had seen growing by the roadside on Reverend Lane.

Mother squealed with rare delight, and Edith smiled despite herself as Mother buried her face in the flowers, beaming at Father in adoration.

Still as she lay in bed that night she couldn't help but feel terribly uneasy about the emptiness behind her father's eyes, and the necklace hidden in his drawer.

* * *

Soon Father was away on business again, and then again and again, until he was barely home at all. Edith and and her mother would see him maybe once a month, and he said he had been promoted.

'What does that mean?' asked Edith at dinner one night.

'It means his job is the same, but now he's more important. Eat your sprouts.'

'But why does he have to travel away all the time?'

'He's a very important man.'

'But surely if he's so important, he can get other men to travel for him?'

'Don't talk with your mouth full, it looks ridiculous.'

By the time Edith was twelve her father seemed a stranger to her; she rarely saw him and spoke to him even less, and their conversations were awkward and short.

'How are your lessons, Edith?'

'Very good, Father.'

_What happened to the necklace in your drawer, Father?_

'What are you reading, Edith?'

'How Doth the Little Crocodile, Father.'

_Who did you give the necklace to, Father?_

She and Mother stayed at Grandmother's house in London more frequently; their own huge house seemed so empty with just the two of them.

* * *

One day the two women and the young girl went into the city. The cobbled streets were packed with carriages, and when they reached the market Edith was astounded. She had never seen so much life, or so many people crammed into one space shouting and laughing and haggling with each other over fruit and animals and trinkets.

'Mother! Look at this!'

'Lower your voice, Edith. People will stare.'

'Nobody's staring,' said Edith loudly, 'no one can even hear me!'

For once she was right; the whole marketplace was such a conglomeration of noise and chatter that she had to raise her voice just to be heard. Still Mother and Grandmother were disapproving.

'It's not proper for a young lady.'

'I'm not a "young lady"', frowned Edith, 'I'm only a girl.'

The other two merely rolled their eyes, and Edith felt a pang of longing for her Aunt Alice.

As the women immersed themselves in inspecting fruit, the sight of a familiar-looking dark suit caught her eye and Edith slipped into the crowd after it, chasing it like a butterfly.

'Father!' she called. 'Father!'

He didn't hear her; he was busy talking to the person beside him as they both studied a small, intricate rose made out of crystal. The person was a woman, a young and exceedingly handsome one at that, with luxurious dark hair rolled into elegant curls clustered on the back of her head down to her long, white neck. Father was standing uncomfortably close to the woman, dipping his head to talk lowly to her. Edith's eyes widened in alarm as he planted a tiny kiss on her forehead; and she stumbled back, almost tripping over a man carrying a chicken.

'Miss!'

Edith ignored him, starting towards her father in hurt confusion. Surely he wouldn't. He would never –

'Edith!' Grandmother caught her elbow, attempting to steer her away.

'Grandmother, look! It's Father! Who's that lady?'

Grandmother didn't need to look.

'Edith, come away now.'

'But he's meant to be away on business!'

'Edith, please …' said Grandmother, her voice tired and weak. 'It won't do any good.'

Edith stared at her meek acceptance, aghast.

'This has happened before,' she realised, sickened, 'this has happened before.'

She looked over at Mother, who was staring at a bunch of apples as though her life depended on it, blinking more than usual, her mouth a thin line.

'He's meant to be in Bath,' said Edith, struggling futilely as Grandmother dragged her away.

'_Edith_.'

'But that was Father!' Edith turned back just as her father looked up, and their gaze collided; two identical sets of dark eyes across the marketplace. While hers was full of uncertainty and hurt, and his was empty of shame, both of them knew, and both knew that the other knew.

The next time she saw Father she couldn't look him in the eye, afraid of what she might see there, or what she might see not there. She could never confront him about the woman she had seen in the marketplace, and she could never bring herself to talk to Mother about it.

And yet she was angry at both of them. Her father for doing it, and her mother for ignoring it – for letting pass unchecked. She wasn't sure which was worse.

'Where's Father?' she asked as she came down from her lesson.

'Away on business,' said Mother on cue, sewing away at her embroidery, her face stretched thin and pained.

Edith watched her resentfully, then said in a harsh moment of impulsiveness, 'Don't you ever wonder what he does?'

She saw Mother's needle slip, saw her finger bleed a droplet of dark red blood. Mother didn't even gasp.

* * *

Edith was thirteen when everything fell apart. Sometimes she felt like it had all started unravelling the moment Aunt Alice had burst out of her life, or the moment she had opened the box that wasn't hers to open; but really it started here, when Grandmother finally faded away.

The sleep came for her in the night, and she simply wouldn't wake up. Death was a new experience for Edith, and she was terrified of being consumed by it; by the funeral and itchy black bombazine and crape dresses and the grief that ate away at everything and everyone. All through the funeral Mother didn't cry; simply standing beside Father with her cold hand on Edith's shoulder, white and frail enough to be blown away by the wind. As Father moved forward to place a white rose on the coffin, Edith twisted around to look at her mother.

'Let's run away,' she whispered, 'we'll run away together and we'll be happy.'

Mother gave a tiny, impenetrable shake of the head, her mouth drawn tight.

'Why not?'

She hadn't been expecting an answer, and was surprised when Mother said in a cracked voice; 'Sometimes you can't just run away.'

'He doesn't care,' whispered Edith fiercely.

Mother was silent for so long that Edith thought that was the end of it, until finally she spoke.

'He doesn't,' she said, pulling her mouth even tighter, '_but I do_.'

* * *

Father left on business again that afternoon.

'I'm terribly sorry, Margaret,' he said, 'but Mr Havershim simply won't let me …'

'Go, go,' said Mother wearily, and leaned in for a kiss. Father turned his cheek to her, and still had the nerve to smile at her as he waved goodbye.

'I love you,' Edith heard Mother say softly.

'Me too,' Father replied, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

That night Mother snapped.

Edith heard her crying down the hall, unearthly and pitiful. She crept out of bed and down to her bedroom, cracking the door open.

'Mother?'

She was sitting amidst a white mess of tangled blankets on her bed, her blonde hair loose and eyes wild. She stared at Edith, her face emotionless and pale. For a moment they simply stared at one another.

'Mother?' said Edith again, uncertain. 'Your hands are shaking.'

She had never seen hands tremble like that, erratic and jumpy. Mother didn't reply, staring at her. Then she leaned forward, still looking at Edith with an intent gaze that sent chills down Edith's spine.

'Alice?' Mother whispered.

Edith shook her head.

'No, Mother …'

But already Mother was crawling off the bed, nearing her with thin arms outstretched.

'Alice … please, come back …'

'No, Mother, it's me,' said Edith unsteadily, backing away, 'it's Edith!'

Suddenly Mother lunged forward, and Edith squeaked as she grabbed her face in her hands, tugging her towards herself roughly.

'Mother!' Edith gasped, twisting, 'it hurts –'

Mother's face crumpled and she began to cry again.

'Alice, Alice, I'm sorry,' she wept, crushing Edith to her chest and holding her far too tightly.

'Mother, let go!'

'Alice, I'm sorry,' she choked, sobbing into Edith's tangle of hair, 'I'm sorry!'

Edith was frightened, more frightened than she could ever remember being. She pushed and kicked and managed to free herself, running out of the room; banging the door on its hinges.

'Alice!' screamed Mother.

Edith flew down the hallway, hearing her mother's feet slapping the floorboards behind her. She reached her room and slammed the door, locking it and dashing across the room to her bed, leaping underneath the covers.

She heard padding footsteps halt outside her door.

And utter silence.

Then came the knocking.

It was soft and steady, beating against her door coaxingly. Edith didn't answer, burying her entire body underneath her covers, shaking all over and clasping her knees to her chest.

The knocking kept on for almost an hour, until it got louder and louder, giving way to violent crashing and thumping and rattling of the door handle. Slowly that stopped too, until there was just a deadly silence broken only by a scuffling scraping on the door which continued all night as Edith lay paralysed under the blankets, unable to move from terror; she'd never wanted morning to come so badly.

She hoped Mother wouldn't remember that she had her own key to the room.

* * *

After Mother snapped Edith was sent away, to stay with family friends in the country. Father was too busy with business to look after her, and Mother was pronounced to be in no fit state to do so either; and the country air would apparently do the girl some good. Edith felt terrible deserting her mother, and simultaneously relieved.

'Oh, my dear,' Mother said to her the day she packed her things, more stable after her episode, 'do you think I'm going mad?'

Edith paused in folding her nightgown.

'All the best people are,' she said.

Mother started to cry again.

'Goodbye, Alice,' she sighed as she waved her off in the drive. 'Goodbye, Alice.'

'Awful business,' tutted Mr Havershim when he met her at the station, 'simply awful. I did let Lowell have more days off, you know, I knew things had gotten so dreadful after your aunt disappeared all those years ago … At least he's taking care of you.'

Edith didn't answer, staring out the window as they took a carriage to his home.

When they arrived there, an expansive and rather stylish residence, Edith found herself engulfed in the expansive and stylish arms of Mrs Havershim, who called her a 'poor wee bairn' and force-fed her cocoa.

That night Edith lay awake again, sunken deep in the too-soft mattress and goose-feather pillows of her wide bed. Her mother's shrunken face was vivid in her mind, a brittle hand waving farewell as she drove away.

'_Goodbye, Alice … Goodbye, Alice …'_

'_Alice …'_

'_Alice …'_

Suddenly Edith sat up in bed, a crazy, mad, wonderful idea emerging in her mind.

'Alice,' she whispered.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I know it's out of character,**

**There's naught that I could do,**

**I puzzled long and tried so hard,**

**To make poor Margaret true,**

**Yes, making canon go insane:**

**A dismal thing to do.**

**I had to do it; for the plot,**

**I hope you'll understand,**

**A solid reason for the niece,**

**To enter Wonderland,**

**Of which I am, I'm sure you know,**

**Not author; just a fan.**


	5. Falling and Floating

**Disclaimer:**

'I really only mean to borrow,'

Says Quarta, eyes downcast in sorrow.

* * *

**_CHAPTER FOUR – FALLING AND FLOATING_**

Edith had made many a night-time expedition out of an unmapped house; her searches through Grandmother's garden for the rabbit hole had nearly always taken place at night – so creeping out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door was exceedingly simple. It was a bolt lock, and though she had to fetch a chair from the dining room to reach it, it was soon open. Edith peered out into the mist, so thick she was unable to see anything five feet past the door; her cold little hands lingering on the doorframe. She breathed deeply, her mouth set in determination, and started off down the wide driveway; walking quickly before she was seen from one of the windows, paranoid that any minute now she might hear the sounds of pursuit.

When she reached the road she found it too was enveloped in an even deeper fog which surrounded her like a stifling blanket, strangling the usual night sounds she was accustomed to – the only noise now the soft swishing of her nightgown and coat as she walked; the scrape of her boots on the ground.

And as the thirteen year old girl set off on her journey to the old Kingsleigh residence, she bargained to herself.

If I can find Wonderland, I can find Aunt Alice.

If I can find Aunt Alice, I can bring her back home.

If I can bring her back home, she can fix Mother.

_If I can find the rabbit hole, Mother will get better._

_

* * *

_

Three days of travel and Edith saw a house. They were spread far apart here in the country, on large blocks of land, and this was the first she had seen since leaving Havershim Place. Starvation and sickness from eating only berries drove her into the grounds, lurking around the stables and creeping into the back garden.

The house belonged to a family of seven; a couple and their five children, and Edith soon discovered how difficult it was to sneak into a house containing so many people, all of whom were running about constantly. She hid in their stables all day, crouched in a dark corner trying to think of a way to distract them. At night the house would be locked up, but perhaps she could sneak in at dusk somehow and hide in a cupboard.

'Wasted time,' she muttered to herself, 'I have to move ...'

One of the horses, a brown mare, nosed her curiously, receiving a bad-tempered shove in response. The mare neighed in surprise, jumping away from her, and slowly Edith's scowl turned into a rather wicked grin.

* * *

Arthur Pellam prided himself on his well-trained horses, and so was quite shocked to see his favourite brown mare exploding from her stable in a panic, galloping straight past where he stood in the front yard with two of his children and down to the road. As any good horse owner would, he immediately dropped his cricket bat and gave chase, shouting and being trailed by his laughing children, whose ruckus raised the rest of the family's attention. Later, none of them ever could work out what had made the horse bolt so, or exactly which naughty child of the family had guzzled down Mrs Pellam's fresh loaf of bread, which had mysteriously gone missing from the cooling rack.

* * *

Three weeks of travel later, and Edith was doing everything she could to keep herself alive, and hidden. She had refrained from walking alongside the road she knew led to the Kingsleigh residence, instead delving into the forest beside it, keeping close enough to remain within hearing distance and far away enough to remain out of sight. The forest wove around behind the gardens of properties, and Edith travelled mostly by night, afraid that some home owner might spot a glimpse of red coat and white nightgown moving through the trees. She stole whatever food she could from the houses she passed, creating a distraction at one end of the house before infiltrating the kitchens; living on a diet of bread, cheese, cakes and the few berries she managed to scrounge from the bushes around her.

By now she was quite a mess; her usually tangled hair was matted and dirty, with twigs poking out of it at odd angles, her coat was splattered with mud, and her nightgown was stained and ripped in places – once deliberately to make a bandage for her bleeding hand when she fell. Her boots were the only things that were still as firm and as sturdy as they had started off, albeit a little mud-caked.

She slept curled up in ditches or tree hollows, pulling her coat and dead leaves around her in a vain attempt to keep warm, and would wake with the day when the cold morning sun filtered through the canopy, or shivering in the middle of the night at some unknown noise amongst the trees.

Still, with every tumble to the ground and every grazed knee and every sour berry Edith remained stubbornly fixed on her destination. The Kingsleigh residence still hadn't managed to be sold, associated with too much tragedy already – a reputation which Mother's apparent insanity no doubt did nothing to help. Edith could search for weeks for the rabbit hole if she had to, and she knew in her gut that this time out of so many she would find it.

* * *

On the eve of the fourth week, Edith could tell from the increased noise and bustle from the road that she was nearing her target. She let herself sleep, anticipation growing inside her. The next morning she woke to find the sky overhead darkened with ominous clouds, heralding a storm and sending her good mood crashing to the ground. She knew how much more difficult her already trying path would be if wet and slippery; how much colder she would be if she couldn't find shelter.

That night she crawled into a space between two high tree roots to sleep; and no sooner had she closed her eyes than the gentle, infuriating drip-drip of rain covered her. She leapt from her hovel, screaming obscenities at the sky.

The clouds responded with absolute downpour, drenching Edith in a matter of minutes as she shouted, stomped around, yelled and kicked the dirt as it fast turned to mud; kicked a tree and was showered with drops of water; slipped and tripped over moss. After some moments she realised that she was making a terrible racket, and, like a frightened animal, dove into the nearest hollow tree trunk; pulling her knees up to her chest and shrinking into herself.

It was only after her rage had settled into sulky displeasure that Edith realised she couldn't hear anything. Not a single thing but the rain pattering on every dark surface. In her tantrum she had stormed too far from the road. She was lost in a night-time forest with no means of finding her way out, she hadn't eaten in two days, her body ached all over from constant travel, and it was _raining_.

Edith screamed and beat the walls of the tree trunk, frustration nearly driving her insane. Again she quietened after some minutes of fury, and fell silent once more. She was glaring out at the rain when she saw a flash of brightest blue.

The butterfly landed lightly on the inside of the tree trunk beside her, flexing its sky-blue wings gently.

'Stupid thing,' frowned Edith, 'why would you fly about in this?' She gestured at the rain, falling like a shimmering curtain in the dark, 'You'll get your wings wet, and you'll never be able to fly again.' She let this sink for a moment then added, 'You wouldn't like that, would you?'

The butterfly remained silent, surveying her with a cool curiosity.

'No,' said Edith, answering her own question with a decisive nod of the head, 'you wouldn't. Now, if I was a butterfly, I would never fly about in the rain. I would fly to far off places, like ... China,' she said, smiling for the first time in weeks. 'Have you ever been to China, Miss Butterfly?'

The butterfly seemed to take offence at this, taking flight with an insulted flick of its wings, and fluttering right out into the rain.

Edith cried out in alarm, perhaps having begrudgingly taken a liking to its bright colour, or just glad of the company after so many weeks travelling alone.

'Wait! Your wings!' She scrambled out of the trunk and promptly slipped and fell on her rear end. The butterfly landed gracefully upon the tip of her nose, peering at her with a strangely judging air, as if trying to make its mind up; long enough for Edith to see how the rain drops simply _rolled off its wings_.

'But – but that's ... imposs...' the word died on her lips as the butterfly suddenly darted away, luminous in the darkness.

Edith got to her feet unsteadily, grabbing a branch to stable herself before chasing the butterfly as it flitted through the trees. She stumbled and fell many times, bruising and scratching herself further in the night, palms and knees stinging, nightgown tearing audibly; her chest aching with the freezing air, legs screaming in protest; branches grabbing at her as if the forest itself was trying to hold her back. Somewhere up ahead she could hear a faint noise, growing louder and louder as she ran.

_The road,_ she thought excitedly, _it's leading me back to the road._

'WAIT!' she panted, barely able to keep up with the blue butterfly.

Pushing herself onwards she ran; filthy hair flinging itself into her face and red coat flapping behind her like a flag of distress; when all at once she burst out of the trees, the distant sound rose to a roaring crescendo, and she fell as the ground disappeared beneath her.

There was one heartbeat left to realise it was not the road she had been led to, but water – overflowing and perilously fast – and to see the butterfly hovering over her as she crashed into the stream and sunk.

Edith thrashed and choked; the water was like a blade of ice cutting into her, and all the breath had been knocked out of her when she tripped. She was hurtling and tumbling through the water, knocking against rocks and fallen branches and held underneath the surface. Frantically she kicked off her boots, letting them disappear into the murky depths, and rose like a cork, gulping down a lungful of cold air.

'HELP!' she yelled as loud as she could muster, not caring who heard her now.

She grabbed at branches by the waterside; a willow whose sleepy peacefulness contrasted bizarrely with the chaos she had found herself immersed in, but was whipped past before it could do more than graze her fingertips. The pull of the water was far too strong; the idea of swimming was laughable. Suddenly she shrieked, seeing a large rock ahead moments before she was painfully slammed into it, winded and pinned in place by the rushing stream. Before she could gasp for air she slipped fractionally and was pulled down again, pushed beneath the surface. She struggled desperately, her chest screaming for oxygen, her limbs heavy with exhaustion; and realised that it wasn't just the violent flow of the stream – something was sucking her down below; a ditch of some kind that had turned into a deathtrap with the heavy rain, and she panicked.

Edith kicked against it, tore off her coat; using up every last ounce of energy that remained from her last meagre supper and the month of walking, her lungs now fit to burst. Still the suction pulled her down, down, down into the impossibly deep pitch black darkness, fighting and clawing at the last glimmer of light, of air, and of the flash of blue above her, watching her – all of which disappeared, leaving her with the claustrophobic illusion of blindness.

Her lungs were going to kill her, she had to breathe, she had to breathe –

She gasped convulsively and choked, water rushing into her chest and making her cough and breathe even more. She recoiled into herself as the water burned inside her, still sinking down further. She was going to die.

_I am _not_ going to die._

Blackout.

* * *

When Edith woke she was drifting through clear, black water, her hair and nightgown floating around her, corpse-like, and for a moment she thought she was a corpse, until she told herself very firmly that she most definitely _was not_.

It took her some moments to notice that she was breathing quite normally, despite being underwater. She was unnerved by this, as it didn't much help the theory that she was still alive, and tried not to think about it.

She seemed to be drifting vaguely in one direction, exactly which one she couldn't say, and soon grew bored waiting for something to happen when nothing did. She couldn't see anything but the blackness around and her own body, and had no clue where she might be.

_I'm in a place where you can breathe underwater,_ she wondered to herself.

'Perhaps ...' she began slowly, when an eye blinked at her.

Edith blinked back, rather surprised to see an eye all the way down here.

'Hello,' she said.

More eyes opened around her, green and blue and brown and grey; all blinking lazily like an offbeat sequence, ranging in sizes smaller than her own eyes to those bigger than her body.

'Who are you?' she said questioningly, 'Where are your mouths?'

They made no reply, watching her silently from all around.

'If you have eyes you should have mouths,' complained Edith, crossing her arms.

After a few seconds of floating amongst them, she asked, 'Are we in Wonderland?'

Immediately some eyes shut at this, disappearing from sight. The ones that remained didn't answer, blinking slowly.

'Well?' she said irritably, tired of being unsure of her own continued existence and starting to feel uncomfortable from their constant gaze. Still they blinked, and Edith found herself blinking back on reflex, mesmerised.

Blink …

Blink …

Blink …

She yawned; the struggle in the water above had tired her so, and her body was still throbbing from being thrown about in the stream.

As she revolved slowly in the water, her lids drooping, through the halo of her mousey hair her eyes caught sight of the door. It was about a yard away from her, made of stone or dark grey wood it was impossible to tell, and it registered in her mind as vaguely significant. Doors were important ... a whole room of doors were important; a room with a twisted-patterned floor and a glass table that definitely wasn't there before...

Edith jolted out of her trance, and so did the eyes around her – no longer blinking, watching her warily. She tried to swim towards the door, but found her limbs even heavier than before, her movements drugged and sluggish. She managed to start moving forwards slowly, gaining alertness as she went, when an eye suddenly opened right in front of her, blocking her path. She cried out and brushed it aside like a bug, pushing ahead more urgently. More eyes appeared closer to her, staring at her unblinkingly from every angle; beating down on the back of her neck and peering up her skirt. She swam through them, finally nearing the door, stretching one arm out and grasping the handle, using it to pull herself the rest of the way.

The moment her fingertips touched the doorknob the eyes descended upon her in a frenzied swarm, trying to wriggle up her nose and squashing her against the door. She lashed out wildly, shoving and pushing them off her body. Once momentarily free, in one swift movement she opened the door and pushed herself through, slamming it behind her, shaking and relieved.

The eyes were gone, but now she found herself with bigger problems.

Instead of releasing a load of water and emerging dripping wet as she had expected, Edith found that she continued to float in mid air, her gown and hair around her. Worse, she seemed to be floating upwards uncontrollably, towards the high ceiling like a balloon; she tried to swim sideways and latch onto a wall or curtain but it was too late, and she only narrowly managed to avoid setting herself on fire when she floated into the chandelier; waving her arms wildly to go round it. The next moment she was bobbing against the domed ceiling, looking down at the room.

It was just as Aunt Alice had described; circular, with a black and white patterned floor. Doors like the one she had entered from were stationed all around the walls, except for one space where a dark curtain hung instead, and in the centre of the room was a glass table, upon which Edith could see the "drink me" bottle – pishsalver as Aunt Alice called it, what seemed to be a small dress, and the key to the tiny door, glinting at her enticingly.

She crawled over the ceiling, using the bumps in the elaborate roof-work to pull herself along. When she reached a wall she grabbed the curtain and lowered herself down, her feet hanging in the air, but the blood thankfully refusing to rush to her head and her gown staying upright. It was the most bizarre experience. Once below the level of the table, her gown brushing the marble floor, Edith pushed off from the wall, shooting across the room and barely grasping the bottle before she rose up again.

She uncorked it, and sipped at it carefully, knowing from her stories how strong it was. It tasted like bitter almonds and she grimaced as it slid down her throat and into her stomach, slippery and cold. It was only as she felt herself sinking slowly in the air, her bones contracting and tickling her spine, her skin tightening and her whole body compressing as she shrunk, that it finally sunk in.

'I'm in Wonderland,' she marvelled to herself, 'I can make Mother better and I can find Aunt Alice ... I'm going to see Aunt Alice!' Her old wide, toothy grin spread over her starved, pinched face, her heart warming with sudden exhilaration.

The smash of the glass bottle hitting the floor brought her back to the task at hand. Looking down over herself, she saw that she was only about six inches tall, (having drunk too much pishsalver), and her night gown was floating around her like a tent, but she was no longer rising upwards so fast; the pishsalver inside her seemed to have given her some weight. Edith swam out of it easily and it continued to rise up to the ceiling as she managed to land lightly on the glass tabletop to observe the tiny dress.

It was quite bigger than her current size, made of smooth blue material and by someone with quick fingers and an admirable eye for detail in clothing so small; little flowers had been carefully stitched along its hem. Edith pulled it on and tied the sash in place; it was baggy and too long but it covered her and added more weight, and for that she was grateful.

Just as she was skimming over the table to get the key, a door banged open and a white rabbit burst into the room, skidding across the floor and coming to halt in front of Edith, panting and wide-eyed. Edith froze halfway through tying the key to her sash, hovering half an inch off the tabletop.

'White Rabbit?' she said incredulously, her eyes roughly the size of saucepans.

He seemed just as shocked by her sudden appearance.

'You're not Alice,' he said confusedly. 'What are you doing here?'

Edith was for the first time in her life rendered incapable of speech, now that she was suddenly confronted by such an iconic character from her childhood stories.

'You're not Alice at all,' he said, more irritably now, 'the absolute cheek; sitting up there bold as brass, and wearing her dress too.'

'I – I shrunk out of my clothes,' stammered Edith, finding her voice.

'Well,' he sniffed, as if very much offended, 'you should at least have the decency not to set off false alarms.'

'I didn't know I was setting off any alarms,' she protested.

'And I ran all this way,' he continued, ignoring her, 'what a waste of time.'

'I'm not a waste of time,' scowled Edith, crossing her arms in annoyance and drifting towards the ceiling again.

The White Rabbit jumped as he noticed this, startled.

'Good heavens! What on earth have you done to yourself?'

'I don't know!' cried Edith crossly, throwing her hands in the air.

'Well, _I_ don't know how you got down here, but you'll just have to go back up the hole,' he snapped, inspecting the gold fob watch hanging from his waistcoat. 'I've got no time for you, you silly creature; I spent it all coming here and now it's wasted – do you see what you've done?' he scolded, clicking the watch shut. He tutted as he watched her ascent to ceiling, frowning in disapproval.

'Not even Alice and you've gotten yourself in a right mess already,' he observed with the twitch of a furry white ear, 'Otherlanders are all the same.'

'So help me!'

'I won't help anybody who shouts at me,' said the White Rabbit, unimpressed.

'I am _not_ shouting!' shouted Edith.

Unmoved by her midair hissy fit he turned to go, hopping away towards the door from whence he entered.

'WAIT!'

He winced slightly at her volume, but kept hopping away none the less.

'White Rabbit!'

'My name is McTwisp, thank you very much,' he said, half turning to face her.

'You have a name?' Edith couldn't remember him having one.

'Yes,' he answered crabbily, 'and I rather happen to like it.'

He saw Edith wrinkle her nose, and scoffed, turning away again, muttering to himself.

'Not all of us enjoyed ... Alice's little nicknames ... Hatter ... but of course, she's far too good for us now –'

'Alice?' cried Edith, struggling to swim after McTwisp.

He turned again, his nose twitching irritably, 'Lower your tone.'

'Hmph,' grunted Edith, and he hopped away again. 'WAIT!'

McTwisp stiffened, whipped about to face her, and opened his mouth, no doubt to give her another telling off, when she interrupted him before he had a chance.

'Get Aunt Alice and bring her here,' she demanded, six inches tall and ten feet in the air but as forceful as ever, 'I know how much she loves it down here but she's got to stop playing and come home; Mother's terribly sick and Aunt Alice is the only one who can make her better ...'

McTwisp didn't seem to be listening, busy fretfully polishing his fob watch and repeatedly glancing at the time.

'Did you say, "Aunt" Alice?' he said impatiently. 'You're a relative?'

'Yes,' she said, just as impatiently, 'just bring her here and tell her Edith –'

He ignored her, producing a monocle from the folds of his waistcoat and squinting through it at her.

'You don't look a thing like her!' he said triumphantly after a moment's study.

'I'm her sister Margaret's daughter. I've been told I take after my father,' she added in disgust. 'But that's not the point –'

'I do recall her mentioning a niece,' he frowned, 'but she sounded much younger than you.'

'Well, I've grown,' said Edith obviously, 'we haven't seen each other in nearly seven years.'

'Why not?'

'Because she's been down here!' she said, trying hard not to shout; the sentence coming out very high-pitched.

'Down here?' repeated the Rabbit, growing more bewildered by the second.

'Yes!' squealed Edith, growing more frustrated by the second, 'Down here! And now she simply has to come back because Mother – ouch!'

She bumped her elbow against the ceiling as she hit it, and glared down at him reproachfully.

He was frowning to himself in confusion, nose twitching. He looked up at her cry, and tutted again, beckoning to her.

'Come down here, child.'

Edith rolled her eyes and swam down to him, landing clumsily on the tabletop and clinging to the edge of it, just above eye level with him.

'Yes?'

'Do you mean to say ... Alice isn't in the Overland?' McTwisp started to fidget, twisting his paws worriedly.

'Well, of course not –'

'Oh dear ... oh dear, dear, dear ...' Slowly, the disjointed pieces of Edith's past sentences seemed to be clicking into place, and a terrible comprehension dawned in his eyes.

'What?' she said sharply.

'She's ... missing?' he said, his nose twitching again compulsively.

'That's what the policemen said,' sighed Edith, 'and Mother and Grandmother; I tried to tell them but they wouldn't believe me.'

'Tell them what?'

'That's she's down here.'

McTwisp edged away, his little eyes darting around the room, paws wringing each other.

'Because she is down here,' said Edith, looking down at him from above, 'isn't she? McTwisp?'

He hopped from foot to foot neurotically, getting more and more agitated.

'McTwisp?' repeated Edith uncertainly, a sense of sickening dread mounting inside of her. 'Where is Aunt Alice?'

'I – I don't ... she didn't ... she hasn't ...' he stuttered, 'it's been seven years?'

'Seven years she's been down here,' she replied, the hands gripping the tabletop tightening, 'and she's still down here, isn't she?'

He was close to hyperventilating now, so much that Edith was afraid he might faint, and he was refusing to look at her, twitching and wringing and fidgeting.

'McTwisp, Alice is here,' said Edith her voice shaking, 'isn't she?'

Finally he stopped twitching and met her eyes, his head beginning to slowly shake.

'No,' he said quietly, 'she isn't.'

* * *

A/N:

_This chapter I'm not sure I like -_

_The in-between I had to write,_

_Some feedback, please, a word or two?_

_I beg a small review from you._


	6. A Severe Loss of Temper

A/N: Realised I had to speed up if I wanted to finish uploading the story before I go on holiday. Acted accordingly.

**Disclaimer:**

If anyone does stop to read,

My silly little rhymes,

You're probably tired of hearing this:

The concept isn't mine.

* * *

**_CHAPTER FIVE – A SEVERE LOSS OF TEMPER_**

Edith had screamed, shouted, and shrieked, but it hadn't made any difference.

'She isn't here, and she isn't there, and I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about it!'

'She's somewhere here, I know she is!'

'Oh, you _know_,' he said scathingly, even as his voice shook with barely contained grief, 'how convenient that must be for you.'

'I believe!'

'Believing won't help at all!'

Edith pulled at her hair in anger, floating in mid air again five feet off the ground.

'The Overland can be just as dangerous as Underland,' he said, his voice softening, 'and just as fatal. When someone wanders off in the dark at night, in the rain, that's bad enough, but when they're too upset to look where they're going –'

'I saw her fall, I saw it!'

'And were you exactly calm at the time?'

'I didn't imagine it if that's what you mean,' she said hotly.

'Oh, I haven't the time for this,' he cried, still shaking and blinking rather more than normal, obviously upset, 'I have to see the White Queen and inform her ... there will be a lot of people who will be ... our Alice, and we thought all this time ...'

'What, that she'd just – just grown out of you?' exclaimed Edith, gesturing wildly, 'She would _never_ ...' she choked, biting down on her lip hard. Shaking her head as if to rid it of a nightmare, she started to swim towards the little door behind the curtain, the key to it still tied to her sash, 'I'm going to find her.'

'And just how do you propose to do that?' cried the Rabbit in alarm, hopping after her.

Edith paused as she reached the door, grabbing the curtain to stop herself from drifting away.

'I ... I can find the Hatter,' she decided, 'he'll help me.' She set about pulling the curtain back to reveal the door, taller than her and the same dark colour as the rest in the room.

'The Hatter?' said McTwisp, his eyes wide with sudden horror. 'Oh, no. No, no, no, you mustn't go anywhere near – wait, child!'

He jumped forwards as Edith opened the door but it was too late. The girl had already propelled herself through, shooting into Wonderland.

Edith couldn't help but gasp as she saw it. It was everything that had been described to her as a child, and yet nothing like she had imagined. She was presently in a garden, filled with tall, beautiful flowers and curling plants and ferns. There was a lush darkness to everything, like the sky after a heavy storm, and everything she saw seemed somehow to be _alive_. Bread-and-butterflies and snap-dragonflies flitted past her; the Flowers bent their pretty heads together and whispered conspiratorially as she drifted by, slowly losing momentum after pushing off the door frame. McTwisp was hopping after her madly, calling for her to come back, and she quickly grabbed a stem and pulled herself behind it.

'Ah!' shrieked the Snowdrop as it was wrung by the neck.

'Oh! Sorry,' hissed Edith.

'She's over here!'

'Oh, you stupid thing!' Edith pushed off from it and went catapulting into a bed of Petunias, all of whom screamed girlishly and pushed her away.

'She's trampling my petals!'

'My leaves!'

'Go away!'

Edith swam frantically through air, spying the forest up ahead, full of crooked branches and dark hiding places.

'Child! Come back! I have to – oh! Excuse me! Let me through, please! I have to take you back to the Otherland!'

Edith laughed shakily, thinking of the many weeks of aching travel and starvation and the hair-raising journey down through the water, 'I don't think so, McTwisp,' she muttered to herself, pulling herself along through the dirt, keeping as low to the ground as she could. Finally a shadow fell over her and she reached the cover of the forest. Rolling into a crouch, she pushed off the ground as hard as she could, shooting up into the trees, untying the key from her sash as she went to go faster. She reached the upper branches before she slowed, grabbing onto them and climbing up higher.

'At least I needn't fear falling,' she breathed, smiling wryly.

Down below she heard hopping feet and fell silent, freezing in place as McTwisp passed right beneath her.

'Silly, troublesome girl ...' he was mumbling agitatedly to himself, 'oh, whatever will the Queen say?'

He disappeared deeper into the woods, and Edith was left wondering what on earth to do next. It was already dark, and she was exhausted and hungry. Her desire for sleep was stronger than her desire for food though, so she decided to rest for the night and search for the Tea Party Clearing the next day.

Now came the problem of exactly how she was going to rest. Normally one would find some place to lie down but since she still hadn't stopped floating slowly upwards ... Edith remembered the sash on the dress she wore, and, feeling extremely strange, tied herself down to a strong-looking young branch. She leant forward tentatively, testing the knot, but it held fast, so she curled up in midair and closed her eyes.

It took the girl some time to fall into an uneasy sleep, filled with vague half-dreams of shaking hands and bulging eyes, but by the time the knot on her sash began to loosen itself she was long snoring.

* * *

Edith started awake when the rays of the sun hit her eyelids, and she was immediately filled with an overwhelming feeling that something definitely wasn't right.

A chilly wind was whipping at her dress and hair, and upon recoiling from it, she didn't make contact with twig or branch as she had expected. Instead there was only ... nothing. She flailed about in the air, twisting about to look around herself, and realised that during the night her knot had come undone and she had floated far, far into the cloudy grey sky – too far to reach the branches and pull herself down.

Just glancing down now she found her guts suddenly awash with vertigo; she had to be almost thirty feet above the canopy, which was high enough in itself. She swam down desperately but the wind blew her back like a tiny leaf and she found all she could do was be tossed about like flotsam and jetsam.

'HELP! MCTWISP! HATTER! HELP, SOMEBODY!'

Edith cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed with all her might, but it was no use. Above the wind and so high up it was impossible for anyone to hear her, let alone attempt rescue. She was a tiny dot in the sky, easily mistaken for a circling bird of prey.

With that thought she looked around uneasily; it suddenly occurred to her that she might be easy pickings for an eagle or hawk, but luckily there seemed to be no immediate danger. At least for now.

Edith was just about to start screaming again when, to her utter shock, a wide grin appeared in midair before her. She screamed anyway, although now for an entirely different purpose, and in a panic tried to swim away from it backwards in a ridiculous flurry.

'Oh, calm down,' said the grin smoothly as it was joined by a pair of turquoise blue eyes and slowly materialising grey fur, until the head of a grinning cat hovered in front of the dumbstruck girl.

'You're – you're ...'

'The Cheshire Cat,' he said, grinning impossibly wider.

'Oh, well, that's different,' said Edith, heaving a sigh of relief, 'you're not going to eat me. Are you?'

He just grinned unblinkingly at her, and then suddenly disappeared into vapour.

Edith spun in the air, looking for him, when he reappeared in his original spot, now behind her.

'I heard there was a little Alice in the air,' he said, surveying her with mild interest, 'but you really don't look at all like her.' He swam around her lazily, the rest of his body appearing behind him – grey and blue striped and finishing with a flicking, curving tail. 'You never can trust Petunias these days,' he continued as he circled her.

'I'm her niece,' said Edith, not at all sure that she trusted this queer apparition, 'I'm looking for her; do you know where she is?'

'No,' he replied, his grin faltering before he disappeared with a soft _voosh_ and reappeared a foot away, grin back in place, 'no one does.'

'Not even the Mad Hatter?'

The Cat grinned rather evilly, 'Oh, you won't want to be asking him for help. Lately he's been rather ... shall we say: unsociable? Can't even handle little _jokes_ anymore.'

Edith attempted to swim against the wind towards him and almost succeeded, but the moment she reached him he vanished.

'When you turned up we thought we'd gotten a new Alice, at least,' said the Cat's disembodied voice, 'but I'm afraid you're not at all what we expected. Not quite the right material for an Alice by the looks of you. Made of the wrong stuff entirely,' he concluded, leering into existence suddenly, right above Edith's head, so that she was forced into lying back to look him in the eye. Because gravity seemed to be having no effect on her it didn't even feel like lying down, instead the world felt rather sickeningly at the wrong angle.

'I'm not an Alice, I'm an Edith,' she said, more than annoyed by this stage.

'An Edith,' he gasped in mock awe, still grinning mischievously.

'Yes, and you've got to help me.'

'No, I don't,' he said, highly amused, and disappeared again. There was a three second interval before he materialised, again above where her head lay, and upside down. Edith swam into place, determined to match him.

'At least take me to the Hare and the Hatter.'

At this the Cheshire Cat laughed.

'The Hatter doesn't appreciate my company as much as he used to.'

'Then help me get down!'

'Why?' he said, turning a somersault above her and vanishing, only to reappear beside her, making her neck snap round, 'I rather find floating relaxing.'

'NOT WHEN I'M FLOATING INTO THE SKY!' shouted Edith, turning as red as a beetroot.

The Cat grinned widely and vaporised.

'Oh, would you stop doing that so suddenly! You're making me dizzy!' she said angrily.

'That's what she said.' He expanded slowly into existence, like a picture being painted against the clouds, 'Better?'

She watched him with narrowed dark eyes, and he watched her with wide, luminescent ones.

'You're rather a disappointment,' he remarked finally, like someone noting uninterestedly that the tea had gone cold. 'You've got no gravity to yourself. Not an ounce of it.'

'In my world,' she snapped, losing patience, 'gravity holds you down.'

'In this world,' he interrupted, 'gravity doesn't do the dirty work for you. One has to find their own way of grounding themselves. You really are in the wrong frame of mind ...'

'Perhaps I'm a ghost,' mused Edith, only half listening, 'if I really did drown. Perhaps I'm dead.'

'Dead or dreaming?' grinned the Cat, and with that he was gone.

After he didn't reappear Edith realised that he had left for good, and she was stranded alone fifty feet in the air.

'CHESHIRE! COME BACK! CAT?'

But there was no answer, and she yelled in frustration to the empty sky.

'FINE THEN!' she huffed, 'I don't need you!'

And she began the long, agonizing struggle of paddling down through the sky, with the wind rising every minute to blow her back up. She muttered and cursed every curse she'd ever heard, most of which she didn't know the meaning of; her own stubborn determination to prove herself the only thing keeping her tired, weary muscles going. Edith wasn't even sure just who she was trying to prove herself to, as there was no one around to watch her, but she'd come too far to stop now.

With the clouds covering the skies it was impossible to see exactly where the sun was, and Edith had only her own, (and by now slightly mangled), sense of time, which seemed to pass in spasms in this part of the forest. One moment she would be struggling to get through the air without result, and the next she would be five feet down from where she had been before. Add to that the fact that although she was hanging upside down the blood still didn't rush to her head, and the ordeal was extremely disorientating.

Suddenly, finally Edith found herself just a couple of feet above the tree canopy, and as soon as her body realised this hidden strength burst into action, spurred by the hope that this would all soon be over. She stretched her tiny arm out as she neared the dark, gnarly branches, trying with all her might to lengthen her bones, from her shoulder all the way down to her fingertips; reaching and straining until the very tip of one nail grazed a twig.

The very second it made contact her little body regained every ounce of its gravity, and she fell.

Plummeting without control twenty feet to the forest floor is enough to alarm most people, and Edith started screaming enough to alert the entire wood. She grasped at the branches as she fell rapidly past them; the little ones snapped off in her hands and the big ones knocked the breath out of her, tossing her back and forth between them until she felt like a child's ball. Eventually she hit one wide branch, breaking her fall, but was too dazed to hold on and toppled off, rolling and tumbling from branch to trunk until she sprawled onto the ground, the world spinning insanely around her. As she curled into herself in the dirt, groaning and feeling very sick indeed, she heard a familiar chuckle.

'Well, that was very amusing. I was getting rather bored there at the start but you finished with a nice flourish.' Two eyes and a grinning mouth appeared above her, snickering.

Edith fought to sit up, still more than slightly giddy, blinking at the Cheshire Cat. She heard something slosh, and upon looking down saw that she was soaked right through; her hair was no longer floating around her head, but now hanging, dripping and limp – her dress was stuck to her skin – she was completely drenched. Edith found this terribly confusing.

'Why am I wet?' she said dizzily, lifting up a dripping arm and goggling at it.

'Floating, swimming, it all evens out in the end,' said the Cat dismissively, twisting into smoke and sitting up beside her, tail curved like a question mark. 'I suspect you came through the wrong door entirely.'

She shook her head, spraying him with water. Like any cat he flinched; disappearing and reappearing in a branch above her head, watching her reproachfully.

Edith looked down over herself again, and was disappointed to see she was still only six inches tall. She looked up at the Cat, frowning as his first sentence finally registered with her.

'You were watching me the whole time!' she said accusingly, pointing a finger at him.

He grinned widely again, drifting down to her.

'I was bored,' he said simply.

Edith scowled at him and got to her feet, still a little dazed but determined not to show it, putting on a show of haughtily brushing off the dirt caked on her wet dress.

'Now are you going to take me to the Hatter?' she sniffed.

'I'll have to think about it,' said the Cat, turning to wispy smoke and wafting out of existence.

Edith crossed her arms and waited impatiently until he reappeared so suddenly he made her jump, right over her shoulder.

'Well?'

'I've thought about it.'

'And?'

He grinned.

'No.'

Edith lunged for him and he disappeared smoothly, aggravating her even more.

'You really are infuriating, you know that?' she shouted, seemingly to thin air. 'An infuriating ball of fluff – or – or vapour or whatever you are! Now; I WANT TO SEE THE HATTER!'

'Wants,' he grinned, flashing momentarily here, 'needs,' he grinned, appearing there for a second, 'entirely different things,' he finished at her feet as she whirled around and around, trying pointlessly to keep track of him.

Made even dizzier by his vanishing tricks, Edith reached the end of her tether, yelling in anger nonsensically and kicking at the dirt, tripping herself and falling quite painfully onto her bottom as her eye caught something dart away from her into the shadows.

'What was that?' she cried, recoiling, 'I saw fire!'

'That was your temper,' said the Cheshire Cat, appearing behind her, 'you'd best go get it.'

'My temper?'

'You'll lose it completely unless you're careful. I know a queen who lost hers once,' he grinned, 'dreadful business.'

Edith scrambled to her feet, chasing the tiny, fiery figure as it darted amongst the bushes, shouting at it and panting, soon out of breath. The Cheshire Cat merely hung upside down in midair, extremely entertained by the whole caper.

'Ooh, quick, get it!'

'No, not that way, you'll never catch it that way!'

'You're really very terrible at this!' He was practically delighted.

Edith pounced on it as it crouched in a berry bush, but jumped away from it immediately, gasping and blowing on her smarting fingers.

'It burns!'

'Hot one you've got there, and almost as short as you,' remarked the Cat, his grin widening in amusement.

'Why – don't you – try catching it,' gasped Edith, leaning on her knees and trying to regain her breath, her mouth turned down sulkily.

The Cat disappeared, returning a moment later with Edith's temper trapped inside a jar; a short, stumpy figure beating angrily on the glass.

'Finally,' she panted, reaching for the jar, only to have it whipped away from her as the Cheshire Cat disappeared with it, materialising a few feet down the forest path, waving it at her with his tail.

'You must be joking,' Edith sighed, and started to run after him.

* * *

'Alice, but not Alice,' Mallymkun muttered to herself as she trudged through the wood, 'silly, frilly Flowers ...'

She had been on her way home when she passed by the Garden, skirting around the edge of it to avoid dealing with the snooty Plants that lived there, and had overheard an all too familiar name stage-whispered across a patch of Begonias.

'Alice?' said Mally, her ears pricking up automatically, turning back to the Begonias, all of whom looked at her as though she was a weed.

'Hmm? Did you say something Dormouse?' said one of them, peering down at her rather pretentiously.

'Were you lot talking about Alice?'

'Perhaps,' tittered a Daisy two beds away.

'What about her?' said Mally, fingering the pin-sword at her belt.

'One of the Snowdrops says she saw Alice,' said the Daisy.

'But it wasn't Alice,' said a Begonia.

'No, she said it was Alice.'

'But that it also wasn't Alice,' argued the Begonia.

'How can a person be Alice and not be Alice?' cut in a Snapdragon.

'She either was or she wasn't.'

'Or she was _and _she wasn't.'

'I say she was!'

'No, it was the Snowdrop who said she was!'

'And said she wasn't!'

By this time Mally had lost patience and continued on, puzzling over the Flowers' gossip. Now she was just about to put it down to a silly rumour when she heard a girl shouting. And rather angrily at that. Curious, she scurried through the bushes after the kafuffle, following the furious voice until she managed to catch up with it on one of the main forest paths.

She had expected a certain Cat to have something to do with the stranger's anger, and upon entering the scene she found her suspicions confirmed. Chessur was taunting a tiny young girl with what seemed to be a small jar containing a tiny flicker of fire, and he was enjoying it immensely. The girl, however, was not.

'GIVE IT BACK!'

'Such a violent little thing,' grinned Chessur, evaporating and reappearing not far from where Mally stood. 'If you can't control it then you don't deserve to have it.'

The girl was positively livid, and looked as though she had been dragged backwards through a squimberry bush; her tangled, wild hair was stuck through with many twigs and leaves, and, oddly enough, was dripping slightly; her dress too was damp and torn and her muddy feet were bare. The grubby face currently glaring at Chessur was pointed and sharp, and seemed to be made for the sole purpose of scowling; and she must have been less than six inches high – not much taller than the Dormouse herself. She was fighting tooth and nail for the jar, and Mally suddenly realised what was inside it.

'Well, go on, girlie,' she called, freezing the pair of them, 'get it off him.'

Chessur smiled and smoothly appeared right before her, his tail still curled around the jar.

'Mallymkun,' he beamed, nodding to her.

'Cheshire,' she said, raising an eyebrow, 'I'm guessing that's not yours.'

'You know I've always been utterly in control of my temper,' he replied, twitching the jar out of reach as the girl jumped for it.

'Go on then,' Mally urged at the tiny girl.

'Aren't you going to help?' she panted, jumping up and down.

'You want it so badly, get it yourself,' said Mally bluntly, folding her arms and watching her.

'Hmph.' The girl scowled, and then very suddenly dived for the jar, managing to grab it but falling; rolling across the forest floor. When she stopped both jar and temper had disappeared, and she looked down at her empty hands in dismay.

'Where's it gone?' she wailed.

'Inside you, I should think,' Chessur sighed. 'Now, look, Mally; you've spoiled my fun,' he said congenially.

'Someone has to,' glared Mally, 'before you send someone else off the edge.'

'Oh, come now –' he purred.

'Just _go_, Chess,' she said, waving his smoke away with one hand.

Chessur disappeared with a slightly offended twist into vapour, leaving Mally alone with the girl.

'Now then,' said Mally, 'who are you exactly?'

'Edith Manchester,' said the girl, who was getting to her feet, 'I'm looking for –'

'Edith?' The name rang a bell somewhere deep in Mally's memory. Edith ... Edith Manchester ...

'Not Alice's niece?' she said finally, looking the girl over again, 'She said you were little but I didn't know she meant –'

'Overdosed on pishsalver,' interrupted the girl, 'and you are?'

'Mallymkun,' she replied, frowning at the familiar needlework on the hem of Edith's dress. 'That – uh, that dress you're wearing ...'

She looked down at herself in a slightly guilty fashion.

'It's ... it's dirty, I know. I fell,' she added, pointing up to the sky.

'Right,' said Mally slowly, still looking at the dress. It seemed terribly familiar ...

She jumped forward, startling the girl, and grabbed the hem of the dress. Underneath the freshly coated mud she managed to make out little flowers, pain-stakingly stitched along the hem, and the familiar, special blue.

'Alice,' she said faintly, 'this is one of Alice's dresses.' She backed away warily, 'Where did you get it?'

'It was in that room, with the doors,' said Edith hurriedly, 'I had to take it; my clothes ...'

Mally was barely listening. She knew she really shouldn't be surprised that they still left Underland open for Alice – that her little dress still sat there in the Round Hall ready for her return. Mally had given up on that a long time ago. She glanced at the stitched flowers again, and her heart gave an aching throb.

'The Hatter made that for her,' she said quietly.

Edith looked down at the dress, then at Mally.

'You know the Hatter?'

Mally blinked.

'_You_ know the Hatter?'

'Yes, I ... Aunt Alice used to tell me stories,' said Edith, 'about the Hatter and the March Hare and the Dormouse and –'

'The Dormouse?' said Mally, stepping forward, 'but I'm – that's me!'

The girl stared at her, slight reverence flickering in her eyes.

'You're _the Dormouse_?' she smiled for the first time, showing an eager mouthful of teeth. 'Is it true that you fought a Bandersnatch? And stole its eye?'

Mally was taken aback, staring right back at the girl.

'Alice ... told you about me?' she said, surprised.

'Of course she did!' said Edith, grinning. 'You're one of her best friends here, aren't you?'

'I ...' Mally grappled for words, still in a mild state of shock and slightly touched despite herself.

'And you know the Hatter – you know how to get to the clearing and the March Hare's house!' Edith was babbling happily, 'You've got to take me there!'

'What? Why?' said Mally, thrown by this sudden demand.

'I need his help.'

Mally shook her head.

'He won't help you.'

'He will when I talk to him,' said the girl confidently, 'I'm sure of it.'

'You don't get it; he's not going to talk to you – he doesn't talk to anyone,' said Mally.

'He'll talk to me.'

There was no reasoning with her, it seemed. Mally shrugged and began to lead the way, thinking that at least seeing the Hatter would get the girl off Mally's back when Edith realised he was never in any mood to talk to anyone.

'I'm the only who goes to see him now,' she said as they passed through the forest, the girl's walk fast and excited and Mally's unsure and hesitant, 'everyone else avoids him. He only talks properly to me,' she added staunchly, 'don't think you'll be the exception.'

As they neared the clearing the trees began to thin out. They had long grown back after the Red Queen's downfall, and were now as thick and as dark as they had been before; the grass no longer dead and dry but a soft dark green carpet underfoot.

They exited the trees and stopped. Mally watched as Edith gazed at the clearing with an odd mixture of nervousness and disappointment; it was obviously not what she had expected, and she looked like someone who was trying desperately not to be frightened.

The three tables were just as mismatched as always, with stained sheets and cloths covering them. It had taken Mally days to clean up the mess the Hatter had made with his last fit; all by herself except for the Hatter's silent and rare help fixing tables back together and heaving them back into place. Still there were small shards of more recently smashed teacups and teapots littering the ground, and the chairs and tables looked rather battered. The windmill house behind the tables had almost fallen into the same disrepair it had been in during the Red Queen's reign, despite Mally's best efforts to persuade the Hatter to maintain it, and it was attracting most of Edith's dismay.

'I thought the March Hare lived there.'

'Not since the Red Queen took over,' answered Mally, 'he moved into Marmoreal and decided to stay on after she was overthrown. The Hatter lives here now – the Red Guards destroyed his village ...'

The pair entered the clearing, treading carefully so as not to stand on broken china, looking around for any sign of life.

'Where is he?' said Edith despairingly, standing on tiptoe and eyeing a teapot on the table as if she expected him to suddenly pop out of it.

'He could be inside,' said Mally, trying not to be anxious and telling herself it was silly to worry this much about him. But the windmill seemed even emptier of life and in no fit state to support it in any case.

'Why do you need his help specifically?' said Mally as the girl started to pace around the tea tables. 'Why him?'

'He was closest to Aunt Alice, I think,' said the girl rather absently as she passed a stool that was nearly twice her height.

Mally swallowed.

'Yeah, he was,' she said. 'But why does that matter?'

'Because I need to find her.'

'Find her? What do you mean, "find her"?'

The girl stopped, looking over at her, saying nothing.

'Why should you come down here to find her?' said Mally, crossing her arms. 'She's up in the Overland, ain't she?'

Edith didn't answer, looking away and continuing to circle the tables.

'I have to find her and bring her back,' she said instead, 'my mother, her sister – she's sick. Aunt Alice can make her better.'

'But ... but Alice isn't _here_,' said Mally, not wanting to think what she was thinking, 'she must be up _there_.'

'She _isn't_,' said Edith, 'and that's why I've come here.'

Mally dropped her arms, stepping back; a strange, hollow weight sinking to the very bottom of her stomach. Alice was missing? All these years without a sign of contact or a single visit ... Her stomach flipped sickeningly as she realised what the Hatter would do if he knew Alice was –

The girl passed something brown poking out from under the tablecloth; something that looked rather like ... a foot. A shoed foot, to be precise, and as Mally stood frozen to the spot with the horrible certainty that the one person in all of Underland who this prattling, bad-tempered girl should definitely not speak a word to was currently asleep under the table right next to her, the foot twitched.


	7. Ravings and Ravens

**Disclaimer:**

When I wake up,

The fic isn't done,

I sit here writing though I know it's not my own.

I swear that it's true,

What more can I do?

I am still writing fanfics for you.

* * *

**_CHAPTER SIX – RAVINGS AND RAVENS_**

Mally grabbed the girl's hand, which was easy enough as the two were nearly equal in height, and tried to tug her away, watching the foot.

'Edith,' she said unsteadily, 'we have to go.'

'We can't. Not until he comes back.'

'No, Edith, we have to go _now_,' she hissed, pulling on her arm.

'Why?'

'Oh, don't ask questions; just move!'

'But why?' said Edith stubbornly, raising her voice.

Mally cringed, eyes fixed on the stirring foot under the purple tablecloth. She saw Edith follow her gaze to it, then, to her horror, start forward.

'No! What are you doing?' she hissed urgently as the girl crept over to the table. 'Get back here, you stupid pillock!'

'Hatter?' Edith whispered as she neared the foot – which was almost as long as she was tall.

Something shifted underneath the table, the foot pointing and stretching, exposing five inches of darkly striped sock. A familiar low mutter rumbled like a far off storm, restless and barely discernable.

'Hatter?' said Edith more loudly.

'No!' Mally jumped forward, trying to shut her up. She doubted that Alice had told her niece how very _angry_ the Hatter could get; and even if she had she wouldn't have known just how dangerous he could be these days.

The girl ignored her tugging on her dress, and Mally swore softly as the mutter under the table became more distinct; she could clearly hear that it still hadn't changed from the Scottish brogue.

'_... Once upon a midnight dreary ...'_

Mally groaned. He had been at the poetry books again.

'Edith! Will you shut up and listen to me?'

'Hatter, I need your help!'

'It's not safe!' Mally pulled back on Edith's skirt but only succeeded in slipping and falling, bringing the girl down with her. Edith tumbled into a chair with a deafening clatter, and fell against the tablecloth, knocking the stretching foot; which twitched, alert.

'"_Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door,"'_ came the low brogue, tingling Mally's spine in the way it always did, _'"only this and nothing more."'_

Edith jumped back from the table, then, again ignoring Mally's frantic waves and gestures, experimentally poked the cloth.

'_And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain ...'_

'Edith,' Mally whispered frantically, 'get away from him.'

Edith merely made a gruesome face at her, and poked the tablecloth again.

'_Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door – some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; this it is and nothing more.'_

'Hatter?' Edith called through the cloth.

'_Sir,'_ he said, _'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; but the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping; and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door; that I scarce was sure I heard you,'_ and the table cloth was drawn back, and out peered two yellow eyes, shadowed and red-rimmed; a pale face framed by a bush of wild, orange hair.

Edith recoiled immediately, letting out a shocked little scream and falling back onto her elbows. She crawled backwards, scrabbling to get away.

Mally raised an eyebrow at her, half amused and half irritated. _Serves her right,_ she thought. Still, she was jumping with anxiety. She had to get the girl away from him before she blabbed everything.

'_Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter; in there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore ...'_ murmured the Hatter, staring at Edith with unblinking yellow eyes.

'I'm not a raven,' said Edith obtusely, leaning as far away from him as she possibly could.

'It's poetry,' said Mally, in a tone that translated as; 'it's vomit-inducing sentimentality'. 'And now, we should go.'

'Why?'

Mally grit her teeth; 'I'm _trying_ to stop you from getting hurt, so _shut up_.'

Edith looked at her for a minute, as if weighing up her options, then turned to the Hatter; leaving Mally to bite back a cry of impatience, throwing her hands in the air.

'Hatter, I need your help.'

He jumped back, knocking his head against the table, as if only just noticing her, and seeming just as surprised and unsettled as she was; goggling at her with wide eyes as though shocked at her very existence.

'_Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,'_ he muttered to himself as Edith's prim little mouth dropped open in offense_, 'though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore ...'_

'Hatter?' Mally started forward, one hand out. He didn't look at her.

'_Wretch!'_ he cried suddenly, startling Edith once more, _'thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee; respite – respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!'_

'Lenore?' Edith's brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

'It doesn't mean anything; come away now,' said Mally, trying a different approach; to coax the girl away, 'it's dramatics.'

Edith was scared of him, that much Mally could see. His appearance would probably be frightening to an Otherlander at the best of times; Mally couldn't be sure as she was no expert. She had only ever made one venture into the Otherland, and had found it dull and almost ugly; devoid of colour and variety as if something had sucked it dry. Not to mention how disgusting all of the animals were up there.

The Hatter leant forward, still staring unnervingly at Edith, as if trying to nut her out. Then he blinked, his orange-red eyebrows shooting up.

'_Prophet!'_ said he, _'thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil ...'_

'I'm not a bird!' said Edith hotly, sending a glare slap-bang into his face.

He didn't flinch, eyes burning into her face and continuing, a mad desperation shading the edges of his rolling tone.

'_Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore –'_

'Who's this Lenore he keeps on about?'

'It's in the poem,' said Mally impatiently, still on edge, 'now do you see he's not going to talk to you? You won't get a sensible word out of him.'

'Hatter,' said Edith, snapping her fingers in his face, 'Hatter. It's about Alice-oomph!'

Mally went into a wild dive, muffling the girl's mouth in a headlock.

'_Shut – up_,' she hissed, shaking her firmly.

But the damage was done.

'Alice?' It was a different voice that spoke now, softer – as soft as a child. Colours flickered in the Hatter's eyes briefly.

Edith shrugged the frozen Mally off, looking around them in confusion.

'Who said that?'

'He did,' said Mally, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 'Are you thick?'

'He's got two voices!'

'Oh, Auntie Alice didn't tell you that, did she?' said Mally, unable to help the mocking edge to her voice. 'It's all lovely fairy stories for you.'

'Alice ...'

Mally's gaze snapped onto the Hatter. He was staring down at his hands as though he'd never seen them in his life before.

'Alice ... a boat beneath a sunny sky ...' he murmured, head on one side, staring vacantly.

Mally nearly flinched. She knew that poem well.

'Hatter?' she asked.

He finally looked up at her, and she smiled weakly at him.

'Mallymkun.' He frowned. 'I've been feeling a little ... _blue_,' the Scotsman slipped in uncontrollably, determined to get a word in. He paused for a moment, swallowed carefully, and continued.

'I keep seeing her ... disappearing. Poof,' he said hoarsely, reaching a hand to the thin air in front of him, 'right in front of me.'

Mally glanced at Edith; she was staring, obviously now convinced that the Hatter was positively deranged, edging back further away.

'One second she'll be there ... and then ... that – _POOF!_' he bellowed without warning, leaping to his feet; nearly knocking the table over and sending a stack of books that had been piled into a seat flying.

Edith squeaked and Mally pulled her out of the way, just in time for them both to avoid being squashed by a heavy encyclopaedia.

'_Where is he?'_ the Hatter was shouting, looking wildly at the air surrounding them. _'Where is he?'_

'Hatter!' cried Mally, pushing the girl behind her. 'The Cat's not here; he never comes near here – remember, I told him!'

The Hatter sat down just as abruptly as he had stood, legs sprawling in the dirt. He was silent for a moment, staring at the ground as frowns and grimaces flitted over his face; then he seemed to notice Edith once more.

'_And what is this?'_ He scrambled onto his stomach, leaning on his elbows and studying the small girl, who stepped back hurriedly.

'_Not a raven, that is sure,'_ he observed, _'is it ... a Rhoda?'_

Edith blinked and shook her head, stunned.

'_No? Perhaps a little Lorina? _Not quite like a Lorina_. A Violet or a Rachael Rose? Marion? Emily, at all? Lillietta or Serena? _No, absolutely, no,' he decided with a wrinkle of the nose. _'Briony or Ebony? Or Enoby, perhaps,' _he guessed,_ 'A Carol or a Coraline? A Wendy? A Dorothy?' _He edged a little closer, and whispered_, 'An Alice?'_

Edith stared at his wide, wide yellow eyes, and said so faintly that Mally barely caught it; 'Don't call me Alice.'

'_Alice?'_ he asked himself, giving no sign as to whether he'd heard her or not. 'No, definitely not Alice,' he answered, 'wrong face. _Right bone structure,'_ the other voice cut in, _'lovely bones, right there,'_ he poked at the girl's face, nearly jabbing her eye out.

'Hatter!' Mally pulled Edith away again, steering her back towards the forest. 'Come on, you've seen enough –'

'No!' Edith suddenly put up an alarming struggle to get back to the Hatter, pushing at Mally determinedly, 'I have to find her! My mother needs – let go – I have to –'

'Alice but not Alice,' the Hatter muttered as Mally attempted in vain to drag the girl back to the safety of the trees.

'_Quasi-Alice ... half-Alice ... mother...'_ A conclusion emerged in the Hatter's eyes, the ill-looking colour of a bruise, 'part Alice?'

Mally froze.

'No, Hatter,' she started, but he was already standing, leaning heavily on the table, making the china rattle as his hands shook.

'Part Alice?' he said again, staring at Edith with his bruised eyes, 'you ...? You're ... you're her ...? Child?'

'No, no –'

'So it's true then,' he said quietly, in that soft, sad voice that tore at Mally's insides so badly she wished he was shouting, 'she doesn't need us anymore. She grew up and she ...' the words seemed to stick in his mouth as he gazed down at them; at Edith, who was shaking her head dumbly, eyes transfixed on the Hatter's shaking hands.

'Dormouse ...' she said, with the same faint croak as before, cutting off the blood in Mally's arm, 'make him stop.'

'She's finished with us and now her child comes in her stead ... I suppose,' the Hatter said with a thinly spread half-smile, 'it's better than being forgotten.'

'Tarrant,' said Mally, gathering her resolve, 'don't be a prat.'

She cursed inwardly, her mind skimming through pros and cons, ways of sorting out this bloody messy situation; some way, any way to make him stop talking like that – to stop him looking so terribly sad because of _her_, always because of _her_.

'She's just a little girl,' she began, inventing desperately, 'wandering about; I found her in the Outlands, just like –'

She bit the sentence off, remembering how that particular adventure had been spent with none other than the woman she was trying to drive the subject away from.

'Um ... she ...' Mally floundered, her lie growing thinner by the second as the Hatter stared down at her.

'She looks like her, Mally,' said the Hatter.

'No she doesn't,' said Mally, half confused and a bit annoyed.

'Underneath,' he said, glancing at the girl, whose mouth was opening and shutting like a haddock, 'somewhere underneath.'

Mally didn't know what to say to this.

'I'm not an Alice,' said the girl, finally finding her voice, 'I'm an Edith.'

'_Oh_, you great eejit,' huffed Mally, shoving at her.

'Edith?' echoed the Hatter, 'You're Edith?'

And then he was down on the ground crouching, bent to talk to her.

'You're her niece,' he almost smiled in something akin to relief, then another frown flickered into place at some emerging memory. 'Where's Alice?' he asked in the soft, child-like voice, searching Edith's tiny face for clues.

Mally saw Edith open her mouth to reply, and promptly dragged her away, the Hatter following them with his gaze but not moving from his slumped position by the table. When they were out of earshot Mally released the struggling, wriggling girl.

'Mmph-Dormouse! I have to tell him!' she said, adding haughtily, 'It's only right, you know.'

'Oh, how noble,' she sneered, 'and would that be out of actual concern for him or just for your own interests?'

'I'm hurt,' retorted the girl sarcastically, without bothering to attempt to deny the accusation.

'I'm sure,' snorted Mally. 'Don't you understand; if he finds out that Alice is ...' the words refused to come out, clogging up her throat almost painfully.

'If you think she's dead then you're wrong,' said Edith, not a flicker of doubt shadowing the statement.

'We'd know if Alice came through here,' said Mally, 'McTwisp regulates all the doors in and out of Underland and there hasn't been a whisper of her since Jestenlovell Day, and that was many years ago. She's either run off somewhere in your world –'

'She wouldn't!' said Edith adamantly. 'Apart from Wonderland there's no place she'd ever run away to without telling us. And the police could never find a single lead; she just vanished!'

'Then the answer is obvious!' Mally near-shouted in frustration, 'Just admit it!'

'Don't you want her to be found?'

The question was meant to be rhetorical, Mally knew – there was no real accusation behind it – and yet she couldn't ignore the pang of guilt she felt. She fell silent, causing Edith to look at her rather oddly.

'Don't you?'

'_T'was brillig and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe,'_ the Hatter was murmuring poetry again; this time it was Outlandish poetry.

Edith turned to look at him, suddenly mesmerised. She trailed back over towards him, and Mally followed her, ready to drag her away again.

'_All mimsy were the borogroves ...'_

'And the mome raths outgrabe ...' the girl finished, surprising both Mallymkun and the Hatter.

'How do you ...?' But Mally already guessed the answer to that one.

'Aunt Alice used to sing me to sleep with it,' said Edith, a rare smile softening her face momentarily, 'well, I mean she would whisper it until I fell asleep. She used to sing lots of other songs though ... "_hush-a-by lady in Alice's lap, till the feast's ready we've time for a nap, when the feast's over we'll go to the ball – Red Queen and White Queen and Alice and all..._" and one about lobsters and a snail ...' her little face scrunched up, 'I can't remember it,' she said somewhat forlornly.

The Hatter was staring at her.

'_Used to?'_ he said weakly.

Mally's eyes darted from the Hatter to Edith, who had stiffened as she realised her mistake.

'Where is she?' he asked again, looking from one to the other, his voice pained.

'That's the problem, you see,' said Edith with a nervous titter, 'I don't know.'

'She didn't come back,' he said, his eyes haunted by some long ago memory, 'she hasn't come back. She forgot me, I thought, I was scared – I – I – it's my fault – I shouldn't have – the most _foolish_ – she'll hate me, I thought, she's going to hate me – so foolish...' the words were stuttering out, gathering pace and anxiety as the anguish grew in his expression, 'she'll want to forget me after this – because I shouldn't have – she doesn't – doesn't feel ... and now I'm here missing Alice and it's all my own fault and I'm missing – missing my gravity – gravity – my – _Alice!_' it ended in a strangled yelp, and he ducked his contorted face into his hands; like a small boy trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

'Hatter?' Mally stepped closer, and after a moment his head rose up again.

'What happened to her?' he asked Edith hoarsely.

'She disappeared years ago,' said the girl, 'and now my mother's terribly sick and Aunt Alice can make her better. I'd always thought she was here, but now when I've come to find her and everyone tells me they haven't seen her at all,' this last sentence was added with a rather sulky sniff.

The Hatter considered this in silence, staring off into the distance.

'She's not coming back,' said Mally gently, and suddenly her own statement, the force of it, hit her. _She's not coming back. She's gone_. Her stomach flipped over, and all at once she felt very, very guilty; guilty for not knowing whether she was happy or sad about this. She had always been outshone by Alice, had always been turned into the third wheel when she was around; no longer the Hatter's closest friend, the only one who could calm him. She had wished, as much as she'd hated herself for it, that Alice would stop visiting and leave them alone, and everything could go back to how it was before the Red Queen's reign; and yet at the same time she'd been terrified of the day when Alice did stop visiting – she had always known it would come, and she had always known she would be the one left to pick up the pieces like always.

The Hatter was still silent; staring at Mally as if she had just kicked him in the stomach. She couldn't hold his gaze, and looked down at the ground instead.

'_She's not dead,'_ he said finally.

Mally looked up. Dark clouds were brewing in his eyes again; even his clothing was dimming visibly in colour.

'Hatter,' she said carefully, breathing deep, 'just stop and think –'

'_She's not dead,'_ he insisted, leaning forwards and looming over them with dark and wild eyes.

'She's not here and she's not there; where else could she be?' exclaimed Mally, backing away with Edith.

'_How shall the ritual then be read – the requiem how be sung? An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young,'_ he hissed, an angry twist to his voice, _'how now, Mallymkun?'_

'I vote "not dead",' said Edith, peeking out from behind Mally as the Hatter's shadow fell over them.

'Shut yeh' gob!' Mally snapped.

'Don't I get a say at all?' she said in her most petulant tone.

'You've already had all your "says" from now until Nickleymus Day –'

'_SHE'S-NOT-DEAD-NOT-DEAD-NOT-DEAD!'_ It came out in jumbled mass of roared words, tripping over each other as they burst out of him, his eyes flaring to nearly red for a half a second.

'Hatter!' said Mally sharply. The shout got through finally; the fire in him went out and he slumped over, suddenly subdued once more, his face sinking into his hands. He was trembling.

Mally ripped her arm out of Edith's grip and ran to him, scurrying up from his knee to his arm to his shoulder to lean against his cheek precariously, trying to peer into his eyes. He brushed her away. Taken by surprise, she toppled off his shoulder and hit the ground behind him with a painful thud.

'_I'm fine,'_ he muttered darkly, his voice breaking.

Mally got to her feet, rubbing at her crushed arm and glaring at him.

'You won't be needing me then,' she said as harshly as she could muster, 'I'll just leave you here to wallow and trash Thackery's house until it falls down around your ears, shall I?'

There was no reply. She grabbed the gaping Edith's arm and tugged her away.

'Come on.' Mally knew she'd be back the next day to clean up whatever mess of himself he'd made, but right now she couldn't stand being near him a moment longer.

'Wait,' came the choked cry.

They both turned to see him heaving himself to his feet again; it took so much obvious effort that Mally wondered with a pang when the last time he'd eaten was.

'Child,' he said, addressing Edith, 'how did you get down here?'

Mally turned to the girl beside her, frowning.

'How _did_ you get down here?' she asked.

Edith gaped for a half-second, then stuck her chin out defiantly.

'I came looking Aunt Alice, I told you –'

'No, but _how_ did you get down here?' said Mally.

'I – I ...' She considered this for a moment. 'I just ... I was trying to get to Aunt Alice's old house, but ... I fell. Into water,' she squinted, trying to remember, 'I fell because,' she continued slowly, 'I was following the butterfly.'

'A butterfly?'

Mally exchanged a glance with the Hatter.

'It can't be him,' she said.

'What colour was it?' he asked Edith.

'Blue.'

'You're sure? Absolutely, utterly, entirely and completely sure?'

'Yes,' said Edith confidently, 'bright blue.'

Mally looked over at the Hatter warningly. His jacket was beginning to turn back to its original brown; the tattered fabrics that streamed out of one pocket and out of his sleeves lightened visibly – even his large bow tie perked up.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said cautiously, 'but he can't be the only blue butterfly up there, you know.'

'But then how else did she get down here?' said the Hatter, his eyes slowly brightening as he straightened where he sat, staring down at Edith. But Mally knew his mind was somewhere else entirely.

'They still leave the door open for her,' she protested as he stood and grabbed a stale-looking scone from the table, gulping it down as if he'd only just remembered that he had a stomach.

'I know,' he mumbled with a mouthful of scone, the signs of a smile threatening to break out on his face, 'but not just anyone could have got in.'

'Even if it is him,' said Mally, 'and I'm not saying that it is; why would that make any difference to whether Alice is … well ….'

'He was always wiser than the rest of us, Mally. They used to say he was the only Underlander who could bear to read all of the Oraculum.'

'What are you talking about?' wailed Edith in confusion.

'Hatter, you're setting yourself up for disappointment! Again,' she added half to herself despairingly.

'Alice saved our lives once, Mally, if you do care to remember,' he said, diving under the table momentarily and reappearing with his hat in one hand. He brushed the cobwebs off it and jammed it decisively atop his shock of red hair with a grin nearly reminiscent of his former self, 'It's only polite to extend the same courtesy to her, you know.'

'Like courtesy is the only reason you've ever gone gallivanting after her,' Mally muttered under her breath rather mutinously.

If the Hatter had heard her he gave no indication.

'Now,' he said, stuffing a spare scone in his pocket, with a slight wrinkle of his nose, 'to Marmoreal!'

And he set off into Tulgey Wood without so much as a backward glance.

Mally looked at Edith, and Edith looked at back at her, and they both ran helter-skelter after him, as fast as they could on their tiny legs.

'Oi! What do think you're doing?'

'HELP ME FIND AUNT ALICE!' begged Edith.

'If you don't shut up about Aunt Alice I'll stick you!'

'WAIT!'

The Hatter turned back to them irritably.

'No, no, go on, Mally,' he said, shooing her away with both hands, 'take the girl back to the Overland.'

'No chance,' she said firmly, 'I'm going with you to find Alice.'

'So am I!' said Edith, 'She's _my_ aunt and I am not going home until I've got her with me; and you can't make me go home because I'll just come straight back down again, just see if I don't and –' she gasped as the Hatter scooped her up and sat her on his hat brim abruptly, to shut her up if anything. It worked rather well as method of Shutting Edith Up, as she had all the breath quite knocked out of her; Mally made careful note of this.

'And me,' she called up, 'you have to take me!'

'Mally, forgive me,' the Hatter said, avoiding her eyes, 'this is something I'd rather do alone.'

Mally was speechless.

'You take the shrieking niece but you don't take me?' she said, outraged, 'Even though I've been the only one visiting for all this time; even though I'm the only one who really stuck by you; even though I could actually help?'

Tarrant gazed at her in that stomach-flippingly intent way of his, then slowly crouched down; extending a mercury-scarred, blotched hand to her and a half-sad half-smile.

'Come then, Mally,' he said softly, and she scurried onto the hand and was lifted up onto the hat beside Edith, who shifted over to make room for her at the front of the brim.

'Is it he like that often?' Edith whispered as the Hatter set off through the wood.

'Like what?'

'Up and down.'

'Oh, yeah,' she sighed tiredly, 'trust me; you're going to need my help.'

And even though Mallymkun had terrible misgivings about this, and yet also felt strangely about the misgivings themselves, even though her own emotions regarding Alice's apparent disappearance were still conflicting; even though she was already frightened that the Hatter would uncover an awful truth and finally break completely, she couldn't help but feel strangely happy.

For now was the first time in years that the Hatter's eyes had returned to their true, bright green.


	8. Into the Woods

Disclaimer:

Yoooou waaaant meee toooo cha-aange,

But I still must DISCLAIM!11! DISCLAIM!

Woa-woah, DISCLAIM! DISCLAIM!

...

That one was pretty lame.

* * *

_**CHAPTER SEVEN – INTO THE WOODS**_

Mallymkun couldn't remember the last time she had travelled by hat. The hat swayed with every step the Hatter took, and the strangely comforting rhythm was beginning to lull her to drowsiness. Of course, Edith wouldn't have that.

'What's Marmoreal? Why are we going there? How long 'til we get there?'

She pushed at the sleepy Mally, poking her in the arm.

'Dormouse!' she barked in her ear.

Mally groaned and pushed her off, sitting up.

'Marmoreal is where the White Queen's castle stands,' she said, rubbing her eyes, 'you know who the White Queen is, don't you?'

The Edith's awed expression told her that she did.

'It'll take a good Day or two to reach it on foot. And I expect we're going there to get advice from the White Queen –'

'_We're going for the Stone,'_ the Hatter cut in, his voice rumbling up from beneath the brim.

'The Stone?' said Mally, her ears pricking up, 'What stone?'

'_The Stone set into the hilt of the Vorpal Sword.'_ Mally could almost see in her mind's eye his expression, his gaze fixed intensely on his own thoughts.

'And how is that going to help us?' said Mally sceptically.

'_It remembers every Bearer of the Sword. It links to every Bearer.'_

'So it can show us where Aunt Alice is?' Edith piped up.

The hat jolted slightly as the Hatter gave a compulsive twitch of the head, as if brushing away an insect.

'_Yes,'_ he replied.

Silence fell over them once more.

* * *

As the day slowly dimmed around them and the trees thinned out to let patches of afternoon glow filter down through the deep, dark canopy above them and onto the pathless ground, Mally looked to her left to see that Edith had fallen asleep.

Now that she was quite still and her face wasn't contorted into a mask of vengeance, Mally took the opportunity to search it for any resemblance to the much-loved Alice of Legend. But she found none, not a single hint in the permanently down-turned mouth and dark brows. She snorted to herself, remembering the Hatter's claim of resemblance "underneath".

Whatever resemblance or lack thereof she bore to a certain blonde woman, one thing Mally could tell just by looking at her was that she was that she had been travelling for some time and it hadn't been smooth; that much was obvious from the weeks-worth of coated grime and hopelessly tangled hair. There was a deep cut on one of the girl's upturned palms, which looked like it had barely healed over before being ripped open again; there was also a pinched, starved look about her, as though she hadn't been eating properly. If it weren't for the seriousness etched onto her face she would have looked almost pitiful.

Night fell and the Hatter finally stopped, sitting down slowly and carefully in a patch of lush grass between four towering olken trees, removing his hat and letting Mally scurry off it.

'Edith. Edith, wake up.'

The girl woke, blinking sleepily at Mally.

'Are we there yet?'

'No. We're resting for the night. Now come and help us get some firewood,' she said, beckoning to the girl as she climbed unsteadily to her feet, rocking from spending most of the day aboard a swaying hat.

The Hatter was already occupied with gathering larger pieces of sturdy bark and piling them in the centre of the tiny clearing, murmuring nonsensical words to himself.

Mally saw Edith watching him with wary, uncertain eyes.

'What's wrong now?' she grunted, heaving a small, fallen branch out of the edges of the trees.

'I expected him to be handsome, I suppose,' came the reply from behind her.

Mally dropped the branch and turned to see the girl plonked on the ground, fiddling with her – Alice's – dress and her brow twisted quizzically. Mally stared at her, too taken aback to even tell her to get off her backside and help.

'Handsome?' It came out almost strangled, and she very nearly burst out laughing at herself.

'Perhaps it was just the way Aunt Alice talked about him, but ... well, when you were told stories as a child, didn't you imagine the heroes to be handsome?' said Edith, her expression uncharacteristically whimsical.

Unbidden, her thoughts skipped back to being a tiny mouseling, and the smell of apple and squimberry pies wafting through from the kitchen, and the patched apron her mother used to wear, and her and her three sisters and brother, all lined up at a table with identical bowls and spoons … Stories whispered by candlelight when all five young Dormice should have been fast asleep …

'I don't remember,' said Mally stiffly, and picked up the branch again, 'now will you give me a hand with this?'

Edith reverted back to her usual scowl immediately, the spell broken and ruined. She folded her arms across her chest and refused to budge.

'No,' she said, with meticulously pronounced finality.

'Shan't?' Mally mocked, grabbing a lighter twig and jabbing her with it sharply.

Edith yelped and seized the twig before Mally even expected it, jabbing her straight back.

'Oi!'

Edith poked at her again, but Mally dodged it this time and grabbed another twig, this one significantly thicker and heavier. While Edith's twig was now in danger of being snapped in two with a single blow, Mally suddenly found herself in possession of a weapon very hard to move swiftly. Edith jabbed and poked and prodded, and Mally swung and hit out blindly, though still managing to dodge Edith's attacks with a grin. The girl obviously saw this as either an insult or a challenge and stabbed the twig forwards rather dangerously, Mally skittering to the side in the nick of time.

'Alright, girlie, stop now,' she panted, tired of darting around and longing to sit near a warm fire and sleep. 'That's enough.'

Edith merely jabbed at her determinedly. Losing patience, Mally dropped the useless stick and whipped out her hatpin, bringing it down over the twig with a flash of sliver.

Edith jumped back from the blade, releasing the broken twig in fright. She stared at Mally for a moment, and then, ever so strangely, began to laugh.

It was the queerest transformation. A wide, wide toothy grin spread over the girl's sharp little face, lighting it up from the inside. Her dark eyes shone with mirth and for a heartbeat Mally could have sworn she saw something familiar flash in the pointed features; something that was almost distinctly Alice. The next minute it was gone, and all Mally could see was a child laughing as though she hadn't played such a game in years, rocking on her heels and clutching her stomach – at the sight of such an unexpected display Mally couldn't help but chuckle to herself.

'Glad you're amused,' she said, trying and not quite succeeding to sound gruff, 'you almost skewered me.'

The girl just laughed harder at her expression, her knees giving way so that she slipped onto the ground and lay there, snickering ridiculously.

'Oh, you useless …' Mally threw her hands in the air and turned back to contemplate the branch, trying to hide the smirk twitching at her mouth. 'Now,' she sighed, surveying the branch and trying to think of the best plan of attack, 'let's get you over to the pile.'

_If I were bigger,_ a voice hissed in her ear, _I could pick it up easily._

_If I were human –_

'Here, I'll help.'

Mally almost keeled over from shock. Edith had climbed to her feet and dusted herself off, and was now pushing at the end of the branch.

'Well?' she barked, 'Grab your end.'

Mally did so, shaking her head to dislodge the surprise. With some puffing and panting the two got the branch over to the pile the Hatter had almost finished constructing, rolling it into place triumphantly. Edith shot another grin at Mally, surprising her again. It seemed that the girl had suddenly made up her mind to like her.

'I'm afraid it's berries and scones for supper,' said the Hatter, shuffling over to them with two handfuls of gathered squimberries and crumbled bits of scone. Edith seized her portion eagerly, wolfing it down as though the end was nigh. Mally took her own more gratefully, with a rather tired smile.

'What about you?'

He smiled just as tiredly.

'You do say that an awful lot these days, Mally,' he said, though not in annoyance. He sat back, warming his hands by the fire. 'Surely you have better things to do than worry about a silly old thing like me.'

'I would have, if you didn't keep doing things to worry me,' she retorted, nibbling at her scone.

He didn't seem to have heard her, giving only a vague nod. He was absorbed in his own thoughts now, staring sightlessly into the flickering fire, not blinking as it popped and crackled merrily, murmuring lowly to himself.

Edith was watching him again, with the same niggling, troubled face.

'Aunt Alice never described him like this,' she said.

Mally looked at her curiously, 'Never?'

'Never.'

She paused, glancing back at the Hatter, across the fire from them and too locked inside his own head to be within earshot.

'He wasn't always like this,' she said quietly, picking at a squimberry.

Edith tilted her head questioningly, her mouth bulging with squimberries.

'Well, I suppose he was,' she admitted, 'in a way. But … not … not like this,' she added, struggling with trying to explain; she'd never been incredibly overflowing with words, unlike him, 'not … back and forth all the time. Usually he's more controlled. He never would have lost it like that twice in a day let alone in the same hour.'

Edith was silent, gazing down at her juice-stained palms.

'I've wanted to come here since I was very small,' she said finally, 'and it's … it's not what I expected.'

'Things aren't usually what you expect.'

'I know, but … it's like … Oh, it's almost like being right back at home,' she said, sounding almost upset, 'I'd so looked forward to meeting everyone too, and all anyone's done is confuse and scold and tease me!'

'We're Underlanders, it's what we do,' said Mally dismissively, 'and if you want people to be nice to you, don't scream at them. Just a tip.'

Edith scowled predictably, but ate the rest of the meal in an almost pensive silence, watching the Hatter. Mally could see her struggling to make herself talk to him; perhaps she didn't know what to say.

'… _Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, and childhood's nest of gladness. The magic words shall hold thee fast: thou shalt not heed the raving blast,'_ the Hatter muttered into the fire.

'What's that?' asked Edith loudly.

His eyes fixed on her quite suddenly. He stared at her for a moment, then whispered carefully, 'Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?'

'I … what?'

'A raven,' he nodded, unblinking, 'like a writing desk?'

Edith was staring straight back at him, with the same cautious, narrowed eyes. Both looked like they were waiting for something to explode. Mally looked from the Hatter to Edith and back again.

'Well … I know that one,' said Edith, somewhat triumphantly, as if she'd decided she'd gotten the upper hand for now, and recited, 'they can both produce a few notes, however flat and –'

'No, no, no, no, no!' protested the Hatter, clapping his hands over his ears as if the girl was letting fly some colourful language.

Edith shut her mouth with a snap, half taken aback and half annoyed.

'You don't understand the concept,' said the Hatter somberly, and returned to staring into the fire.

'Hmph,' Edith huffed, sitting back with crossed arms. She looked across at Mally. 'I can't even have a normal conversation with him,' she said in a rather offended half-whisper.

'You better get used to it,' shrugged Mally, 'we probably won't reach Marmoreal before sundown tomorrow and then after that there'll be the actual looking for …' she trailed off, heaving a tired sigh.

'He wants her to stay here, doesn't he?'

Mally coughed out half a sarcastic laugh.

'Yeah,' she said, leaning back on the ground, 'he does a bit. He's only been asking her to stay since blooming Frabjous Day.' She undid the belt that sheathed her hatpin sword and laid it carefully beside her, brushing dust away from its gleaming edge.

'Well, I think he's being selfish,' said Edith with the childish sulk that Mally was beginning to get sick of, 'Aunt Alice has to come back with _me_, Mother –'

'Look here, missy,' Mally snapped, grabbing the girl's tattered dress front and yanking her forwards, 'you are not the only person who wants Alice back. You are not the only person who needs to find her before all hell breaks loose in the heart and mind of someone you – someone you have to look after. Alright?' She released Edith with a slight push to drive the message home, and the girl almost lost her balance.

'If I was bigger …' she muttered, not quite under her breath.

'I'd like to see you try,' Mally retorted.

'_We'll get ulpelkuchun for you at Marmoreal,'_ the Hatter cut in, barely a murmur and yet still carrying over Edith's muttering and the crackle of the fire.

Edith shot an uneasy look at Mally.

'Could he …? Could he hear everything we just said?' she hissed.

'_Then you can go home,'_ he finished, ignoring Edith's remark if he did indeed hear it, prodding at the fire with a stick to stop it from dimming.

Edith's head snapped round.

'What?' she said dangerously. 'I am not going home. Not until –'

'_Not until you've got Auntie Alice, yes, we know,'_ he replied, just as dangerously.

Edith shrunk back a bit at this tone, but then raised her head defiantly and looked him in the eye.

'Yes, and not a second before,' she said stubbornly. Mally noticed that her fists were tightly clenched in her lap; wound around each other and gripping handfuls of skirt. 'I have to find her, I have to. My mother … her sanity isn't what it used to be.'

'And what about my sanity?' said the Hatter with a grimace of a smile.

'You never had any, or so I've been told.'

'Edith,' said Mally sharply.

The Hatter just let out a volley of high-pitched giggles.

'What _has_ Aunt Alice been telling you?' he said, amused, eyes twinkling green. 'Nothing scandalous I hope? Only I do know how scandalous madness is considered Above.'

Edith seemed to be grappling for words again.

'Told you he's hard to deal with,' said Mally, laughing and thoroughly enjoying the thrown look on Edith's face. She leant back down onto the ground, curling up comfortably. 'We should get some sleep. All of us,' she said pointedly, glancing at the Hatter.

'Ah, yes, yes – of course, Mally,' he nodded distractedly, watching the fire again.

Mally rolled her eyes in resigned exasperation before closing them, exhaling. He would be the death of himself. Or Alice would.

'Everyone has their own special sanity,' Mally heard the Hatter whisper across the fire to Edith a few moments later.

'What are you _talking_ about?' came the annoyed reply.

'A boat beneath a sunny sky,' whispered the Hatter, as if he hadn't heard her.

'Lingering onward dreamily,

'In an evening of July,

'Children three that nestle near,

'Eager eye and willing ear …'

The words blurred into a constant, comforting murmur as Mally felt herself drift off to sleep.

* * *

Mally was woken in the small hours of the next morning by the overwhelming feeling that she was being watched.

In the night the fire had burnt down to glowing embers and ash. Edith was curled up in the dirt not far from Mally, contorted into a ridiculous shape with one arm twisted behind her back. The Hatter leant against a nearby tree, hat brim pulled down low over his eyes, chest rising and falling gently. The air was still chilled by the night, and faint blue morning light was glimmering above her through gaps in the canopy.

Mally sat up, reaching for her hatpin sword, clipping her belt and sheath on as her gaze scanned the shadows between the towering trees and thick dark green bushes and brambles. Nothing stirred. She stood slowly, still wary, still feeling unseen eyes watching her.

'Who's there? Show yourself!'

Nothing. Just the eerie silence – no birds chirping, no woodland creatures making their way through the forest.

Mally could still feel those eyes on the back of her neck. She gripped her sword tighter.

'Show yourself!' she shouted, unease building in the pit of her stomach, 'come out or I'll –'

'Dormouse!'

Mally jumped violently as Edith sat up abruptly, her voice ringing throughout the clearing.

In the bushes something stirred – movement barely caught by Mallymkun's sharp ears.

'Edith,' she hissed, making wide gestures for the girl to shut up.

'But you were yelling just now,' protested Edith. 'Is there someone here?'

'I don't know,' said Mally backing up towards her, sword still raised. 'But we should leave.'

'But it's so early,' yawned Edith widely, rubbing her arms in an attempt to keep herself warm.

Mally ignored her, staring into a dark shadow between two bushes.

'What is it?' Edith popped up over her shoulder, nearly giving her a heart attack once more.

'Shh.'

'But if there's someone there they would have already heard you shouting before –'

'Shh.'

Nothing moved amongst the bushes or the trees. Everything remained silent, chilly and dark. Mally looked around the clearing. Nothing leapt out at them, huddled together in the centre with shadows on all sides. Perhaps she had imagined it.

She turned to Edith.

'I think –'

_CRASH!_

The Dormouse and the girl both yelped as a gigantic creature large enough to swallow both of them without so much as stopping to chew erupted from the bushes behind them, roaring with a mouthful of cruel, serrated and crooked teeth. Powerful muscles coiled beneath raw, red flesh as the creature crouched on its hind legs, which were bent and twisted. A curving tail rose above its huge head, tipped with poison. Edith screamed and tripped as she recoiled from the sight, bringing Mally down with her.

'Evisceraker! Don't move!'

They scrambled in the dirt, tangled, Edith thrashing wildly and kicking Mally in the face.

'Edith!' Mally shouted, trying to shake her. 'Edith, don't panic! Don't move!'

'Are you mad?' shrieked the girl. '"Don't move"? What sort of advice is that?'

'It can't see! It feels movement instead! Shut up, girl!'

Edith either couldn't hear her or was too busy trying to crawl away to listen. Mally jumped on her, trying to hold her still and she twisted frantically, beating her off.

'Edith! Stop –'

Mally gasped as they were both suddenly scooped up by familiar hands.

'Hatter!'

'It's alright, Mally –'

The Evisceraker roared behind them as the Hatter ran, and the Dormouse and the girl were shoved into a pocket hastily. Mally poked her head out, gasping for air as the Hatter darted through the trees, bushes crashing and branches snapping behind them. She could smell the frumious creature's breath, hear its claws scratching the forest floor and ripping up tree roots in fury. The Hatter ducked low branches, dodged bushes and jumped high roots with all the expertise of a futterwacken dancer, but in one moment he didn't jump quite high enough and tripped, lurching forwards. Mally realized what was happening just in time and roughly grabbed Edith around the torso, pulling her up to the top of the pocket.

'JUMP!'

The two of them jumped out and to the side, rolling away just as the Hatter sprawled onto the ground face-first.

'Hatter!'

He was already scrambling to his knees, patting his pockets in horror.

'Hatter, down here!' waved Mally.

He turned and their eyes met just as the Evisceraker leapt through the bushes, landing and skidding to a halt, pelting the Hatter, Mally and Edith with clumps of dirt and grass. It roared, the sound of rusty metal grating against itself.

'Oop!' squeaked the Hatter with a sharp intake of breath, 'I don't think he's happy today.'

In answer it roared again, hackles rising. Edith tried to turn and run, but Mally gripped her arm tightly, forcing her back down.

'Don't … move …' she hissed between gritted teeth.

'But –'

'So far who's been right about these things, you or me?'

There was a tense silence. They were frozen, Mally and Edith squatted on the ground a few feet from the Hatter, on his knees with his back turned to the creature, wincing.

The creature swung its great head around, turning and turning in a full circle, the bones clicking together as it searched blindly.

Mally could hear her own heart pumping in her ears, could almost hear Edith's pattering frantically beside her. Slowly the monster's curved, deadly tail rose up. Mally watched its ascent, heart now leaping into her throat.

_SLASH!_

A poison tipped arrow was shot from the creature's tail, slicing through the air in a flash perilously close to Edith and Mally, who gasped and pulled them both out of the way.

'RUN!' bellowed the Dormouse, but already the Evisceraker had felt the movement and sent a shower of poisoned arrows in their direction.

The group scattered three ways, disappearing into the darkness. Mally darted across the forest floor on all fours, her hatpin sword bumping against the rough ground. She heard a high-pitched scream of pain behind her, and stopped. Edith.

'She's going to get me killed,' Mally huffed, doubling back.

Edith was curled on the ground, grasping her leg. As Mally neared her she saw that the girl was staring straight ahead and struggling not to cry, her face contorted with pain. This was for once probably perfectly reasonable, as the leg in question and the hands clutching it were covered in blood.

'What happened?' panted Mally as she dropped down beside her.

'One of – one of those flying stings …' gasped Edith, biting her lip, '… it – it …'

Mally pried her bloodied hands back from the wound. It was a long, deep, dark red slash against the girl's sallow skin, smeared and viscous. Mally sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth as she noticed the arrow quivering the ground not far away, its dark side glistening with blood.

'A graze. Just be glad it didn't blow your leg off,' she said, looking back at Edith.

The girl was still staring straight ahead, rocking slightly, her mouth a thin white line.

In the near distance the Evisceraker let out another screeching roar – padding, ripping feet were pounding closer, shaking the ground.

'Edith, we can't stop,' said Mally, trying to pull the girl to her feet. 'We have to –'

'Mallymkun,' gasped Edith, not moving; staring ahead blankly.

'I know it hurts, but –'

'No. There's one more thing,' the girl whimpered, her voice strained.

'What's that?'

'Why can't I see anything?'


	9. The Girl in the Tower

Disclaimer:

Looking Glass creatures all gather round,

White cat and black cat and girl with a crown,

The daughter named Lily just came out to play,

For here she owns nothing, not even the name.

* * *

**_CHAPTER EIGHT – THE GIRL IN THE TOWER_**

'The poison,' Mally cursed, examining the wound, 'it must be some kind of thing to hinder prey.'

'Why didn't you tell me about this?' cried Edith, almost hysterical, addressing the thin air over Mally's shoulder, eyes wide and unguarded and filled with pure terror.

'How was I supposed to know?' argued Mally, 'Eviscerakers are supposed to be extinct, they lived in the Outlands Ages and Times ago; I'm not an expert!'

As she spoke the creature itself came crashing through the undergrowth once more, shooting poisoned arrows madly in everywhere. Mally and Edith dived in opposite directions; as Mally skidded under a bush she saw Edith roll blindly, her mouth pursed in an effort not to yelp in pain.

The Evisceraker sensed the girl rolling near his feet and growled, head swinging down and lunging for her.

There was no time to move, no time to even think, and on a reflex built from fighting in the Resistance Mally shouted in Outlandish.

'KLOTCHYN!'

As soon as the word was out of her mouth she rebuked herself. The girl wouldn't understand –

'Which way?'

To her amazement Mally saw that Edith had indeed moved; had dodged the Eviscerakers' teeth and was now wobbling on her feet, frozen right before the creature; both of them blind to the other's presence.

Mally herself was frozen too, by shock. This shrieking, scowling girl who had tumbled down here by mistake and refused to comprehend the way this world worked could speak _Outlandish?_

'Orgal,' whispered Mally, experimenting, wondering if the child would understand. Again to her surprise Edith obeyed, inching to the left. As the creature's head dived for her once more Mally realized her mistake.

'No, no!' she yelled, 'stang, stang!'

Edith jumped right, just in time to avoid being snapped up by the wide, gaping red mouth.

'Mallymkun?' she called, eyes fearful.

'Nunz, nunz.'

Edith froze, waiting. She was shaking.

The Evisceraker swiped out with one blind paw, as though it could see the very tremors in the air of Edith's trembling body.

'Noge!'

Edith ducked.

'Orgal!'

Left.

'Stang!'

Right.

'Noge!'

'Zounder!'

'Stang!'

'Orgal!'

Edith ducked and dived and darted around the creature, slipping and falling on her slashed leg as Mally barked the directions in Outlandish.

'Sloth, sloth! Nunz!'

Edith slowed and then stopped, panting.

'Now,' said Mally carefully, 'orgal, an' legro.'

Edith ran left, limping heavily on her leg, running straight into Mally and squealing.

'Edith, Edith, it's me; it's alright –'

'Mally …' Edith started to giggle hysterically, clutching at the Dormouse's forearms.

'Shock,' Mally muttered to herself, slinging one of Edith's arms over her shoulders and beginning to run, pulling the shaky girl along with her, 'come, Edith, legro, legro.'

Edith ran as fast as her leg seemed to allow, still laughing shakily.

'We're alive!'

'We won't be for much longer unless you snap out of it!' snapped Mally as they ran. She could hear it following behind them, feel it shaking the ground still.

'You speak Outlandish?' panted Edith.

'Of course I do!' said Mally. 'I was part of the UUR in the time of the Red Queen!'

'UUR?'

'Underland Underground Resistance, we used Outlandish as a code language,' said Mally offhandedly, 'never mind that; _you_ speak Outlandish? I thought you were an Otherlander.'

'I only speak – a bit,' puffed the girl, 'insults mainly. Curses – and swears – that sort of thing. And basic directions and how to introduce myself and the like. Aunt Alice taught –'

With a sudden pang a memory came to Mallymkun, a memory of a long ago golden afternoon sitting in the shade of Tulgey Wood – her and the Hatter and Alice – chattering away to each other.

'_She's such a determined little thing. She's been begging me to teach her Outlandish; I think she just wants a way of swearing at her tutors without them knowing. She wants to come to Underland already, you know …'_

'Mally?'

The memory flickered away as quickly as it had appeared, like an old ember that had glowed briefly with warmth.

'Yes, of course, _Aunt Alice_,' said Mally, immediately hating the bitterness in her own tone.

Edith was silent.

They ran for a few moments, the only sounds their uneven steps and breathing, until Mally noticed the trees were beginning to thin out. She put on a burst of speed, nearly dragging Edith like a ragdoll.

'Can you see yet?'

'No,' said Edith, 'and my leg feels ready to drop off.'

'Hold on just a little longer,' said Mally, casting a glance behind them. They weren't gaining any ground it seemed, she could still hear the creature behind her. Evidently Edith could too, from the way she was still shaking.

'Just a little longer, Edith …'

There was a crash and a crunch as a tree was toppled behind them.

'Where is it?'

'Behind us, we'll be fine; keep moving!'

They ran faster and burst out of the trees onto grassy fields and, not far away, Mally spotted a large, shining lake, rippling in the morning light.

'Shifting Lake!' Mally gasped, clutching at a stitch in her side.

'How far?' moaned Edith, faltering.

'Hang on, there's a … what is _that?_'

Standing in the centre of the lake's island was a shimmering tower, shaped exactly like a very skinny rook chess-piece. It seemed to be made from plaster, covered from to top to bottom in a thousand shards of glass which caught the sunlight, and it looked crooked enough to collapse in on itself. Mally had never seen it before. She squinted at the distance between them and the slim chance of safety. If the Hatter had been carrying them they would have made it to the Lake's edge in under a minute, but as they were, tiny and somewhat crippled –

Mally felt a stab of worry for the Hatter. Where was he?

_Focus, Mally,_ she told herself sternly, _Tarrant can look after himself._

_Yes, because he's done a marvelous job of it in the past years, hasn't he?_

_Focus._

She concentrated on running, ignoring the sick worry in her mind and the pains in her legs and shoulders.

'Mally, how much longer?'

'Just a little bit longer, Edith, just a little bit –'

'You're lying,' said the girl, her fear and conviction making Mally fumble the words.

'Maybe a few more minutes. There's a tower, we might be able to climb up –'

'_Climb_?' Edith's voice went considerably high-pitched there. 'Are you insane?'

The Evisceraker roared behind them, and Mally could almost hear Edith's teeth grinding together as they sped up.

Finally they reached the short bridge to the island. Mally shielded her eyes from the glare with her free hand. As they neared the tower she saw the bits of glass were in fact mirror shards, distorting her and Edith's reflection millions of times over, the reflections bouncing off themselves. The Evisceraker loomed like a blurry storm cloud behind them, moving through the shadows of the forest.

'We're going up,' Edith yelped, 'why are we going up?'

'Bridge,' panted Mally, 'island. Tower. Safe.'

Over the bridge and onto the muddy grass of the island, and Mally was beginning to see a distinct lack of door to the tower. She stopped, huffing and puffing, releasing Edith, who toppled over onto the grass with a small cry of pain.

'Where are we?' she said, her head turning from side to side blindly, hands clamping down on her leg.

'On the island at the tower,' replied Mally. She turned behind them to see the creature emerge from the forest shadows, a hulking silhouette moving closer and closer. She turned back to the tower hurriedly, scurrying around its perimeter. It was about as wide as ten men grouped together, and about ten feet tall at a rough guess.

'Is there a door?'

'Can't see one,' Mally said, eyeing the cracks between the glass shards for footholds. 'We might have to –'

She stopped abruptly, ears pricking.

'What is it?' said Edith immediately.

'Can you hear that?'

'_To the Looking-Glass world the dream-child said; I've a scepter in hand and a crown on my head; let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be; come together to dine on the White Queen and me …_' It was faint singing, musical and so pitch-perfect it was almost painful to listen to.

'I can hear singing,' said Edith, surprised.

'Me too.' Mally made another turn of the tower, and this time spotted a window. 'Up there!'

'Where?'

'There – oh, never mind,' said Mally hastily as the Evisceraker stampeded towards them. One and a half yards away …

'Hello up there!' shouted Mally, calling up to the window. The singer stopped, and a golden head appeared at the window.

'Oh, my goodness!' cried a sweet voice, 'Visitors!'

'Where's the door?' shouted Mally. One yard away …

'Oh …' said the voice, and Mally thought she saw a pale, long-fingered hand raised to a mouth in surprise, 'there isn't one. I would have thought that was obvious,' the singer added unnecessarily.

'We have to get inside!' Edith was climbing to her feet awkwardly, staring upwards in entirely the wrong direction.

'And just how do you propose to do that?' came the reply, sweetly befuddled.

'I don't know!' snapped Edith, 'Let down a rope of hair or something!'

'A rope of hair?' The air was filled with chiming bell-like laughter. 'Whatever do you mean, you strange creature?'

Half a yard away …

'Look, could you just lower something down to let us in?' shouted Mally, trying not to jump up and down with frustration and nervousness. 'We really need to get up –'

Right on cue the Evisceraker roared as it closed the gap between itself and the lake's edge. Up in the tower window the pale hands fluffed about in surprise.

'Oh, my goodness; yes, I see! I'll be right back! Don't go anywhere!' She disappeared from the window.

'Hurry!' cried Mally, her voice coming out rather strangled. She grabbed Edith and directed her over to the window as the Evisceraker cleared the bridge with one jump and landed on the tiny island.

'Mally, where is it? What's going on?'

'Just wait, and shut up!' Mally snapped before she could stop herself.

'You shut up!' said Edith childishly.

Mally bit back a retort as the Evisceraker rounded the corner of the tower. She held herself and Edith in place.

'Don't – move,' she whispered.

The creature looked from side to side, and suddenly its attention was caught by something high above. It reared up onto its hind legs, towering over Mally and Edith at six feet at least, wavering as it snapped at the piece of rope which was being lowered down from the tower window. Mally slapped a hand to her face as she heard a squeal from inside the tower.

'Don't move!' she called up to the singer, but it seemed too late already. The Evisceraker leant forwards on its hind legs, crashing onto the tower walls. Something cracked.

As the tower wobbled precariously Mally started forwards, unsheathing her sword as she went, ready to try her signature eye-stabbing move. Edith grabbed blindly for her, her small hands scrunching around the back of Mally's tunic as if she knew what Mally was about to do.

'Don't, Mally –'

Before Mally could even open her mouth to argue with the stubborn child there came the resounding crumbling, chinkling crash of the mirror tower cracking and falling; the sound of breaking glass magnified by a thousand. In one swift movement Mally sheathed her sword and rammed into Edith, shoving them both out of the way in the nick of time. A cascade of dagger-like glass came shooting down as the tower fell; the Evisceraker chased the movement every which way, confused. The crumbled plaster and broken mirrors crashed down on the creature, pinning it and burying it almost completely from sight with a deafening final roar and yelp.

Mally sat up, coughing and waving away white dust. She and Edith had been knocked to the ground in her desperation to get them both away from the falling tower, and the girl was now hunched over her leg, which was bleeding worse than ever. Mally pushed her back gently but firmly, getting a better look at the slash.

'Hmm.' She ripped an already tattered shred of fabric from Edith skirt and tore it in two, scurrying to the island's edge to dip both pieces in the water. The skirt reminded her of its maker with another stab of worry that she banished forcefully.

'Hold onto this bit,' she said, handing Edith one piece, 'and see if you can dab at the wound with this one. I'll be right back.'

She pressed the other shred into Edith's hand and hurried over to the wreckage of the tower.

As the dust cleared Mally could see it was completely destroyed; it was now a large pile of white plaster and glass. She spied the limp tail of the Evisceraker peeking out from under it.

'Hello?' she called, clambering onto the mess, treading carefully around shards of mirror which were sticking upwards. As she reached the top of the pile the plaster beneath her began to move, and she yelped in alarm, whipping out her hatpin sword once more.

'Help me, please …'

Relief washed over Mally as she saw a girl peering out at her, one hand raised in plea.

'Sorry,' said Mally, sheathing her sword and helping to pull and push plaster out of the way. A few minutes later the singer was free, pulling herself out of the rock pile as it collapsed further beneath her.

She was a young woman really, Mally observed as the girl dusted herself off, she couldn't have been under eighteen. Despite the fact that she had just been buried under a considerably heavy pile of ex-tower, her golden hair was glossy and perfect, albeit charmingly ruffled. Her face was rather pretty, Mally supposed, if you went for that sort of thing; pale and picturesque, with two big, deep blue eyes framed by thick dark-gold lashes. Two dimples appeared as she smiled down at Mally.

'Hello,' she said in that sweet, tuneful voice, 'I'm so glad you've finally come.'

One slim hand was lowered down, and Mally was lifted up level with those big blue eyes.

'"Finally come"?' she echoed, confused.

The girl giggled, 'Oh, don't be silly. I know who you are.'

'You do?' said Mally, growing more and more confused.

'Well, of course!' she said, beaming radiantly. 'You're my fairy godmother!'

Mally's first impulse was to burst into hysterical peals of laughter at the very idea that anyone could mistake her for a fairy godmother. This impulse was luckily overruled by the second impulse though, which was to stare at the girl in utter bewilderment.

'I … what did you say?'

'Fairy godmother,' said the girl promptly, her smile not slipping for a moment.

For a long moment Mally stared at her. Was the girl touched in the head?

'I'm Isolda,' said the girl, 'Isolda Celwydd, but of course you must know that already.'

'Mallymkun,' said Mally, still raising an eyebrow at her, 'and this is … oh, Edith!' As she remembered the younger girl she scampered off Isolda's hand and down the pile.

Edith was absorbed with dabbing gingerly at her leg and wincing heavily. The wound had been cleaned, though it was still bleeding slightly.

Mally took the other fabric scrap from her hand and the girl jumped.

'Calm down, it's just me,' she said, and began to tie the fabric around the injured leg.

'Ow!' gasped Edith as Mally pulled the knot tight.

'Oh, stop your whining,' said Mally mildly.

'It stings,' whined Edith, though in a way that was not quite convinced.

'How's the vision?'

'Still nothing,' she replied casually. Mally noted the undertone of fear in the girl's voice.

'It'll come back,' she said, tying one last knot in place.

'You don't know that.'

Mally glanced at her pallid face; drained of blood, covered in grime. The dark eyes stared away into nothingness, not meeting her gaze.

'Stand up,' said Mally, pulling her to her feet carefully.

Edith tested her leg and winced, but seemed able to walk at least.

'What happened to the Hatter?' she asked.

'I don't know,' shrugged Mally, working hard to keep her voice steady and free of concern. 'We'll have to get you to Marmoreal before that leg gives out completely.'

'Marmoreal?' Suddenly Isolda was at their side, hands clasped together, an eager smile on her lips. 'You've come to take me to Marmoreal; oh, how wonderful!'

'Who's that?'

Isolda looked down at the tiny blind Edith, her face a picture of utmost pity.

'Oh, the poor dear thing.'

Edith took offence to this immediately.

'I'm not poor and I'm not dear!' she snapped. 'I've got a hurt leg, that's all!'

'Poor little fae,' said Isolda. 'Is she your fairy maid?' she asked Mally.

Mally chuckled at the look of outrage on Edith's face.

'My name's Isolda,' she said, oblivious to such a look, which was probably the result of never before having such a look turned upon her in all her life, 'what's yours?'

'Edith,' the girl grunted in reply, somehow making this sound like an order to get lost.

'I'm ever so glad you've both come,' said Isolda, 'it was beginning to get awfully dull in that tower. I've wanted to see Marmoreal ever since I was a little girl.'

'Well, you can't possibly come with us,' said Edith quickly, 'we're in a hurry.'

'But … no, I have to come with you, you're my fairies,' insisted Isolda, a somewhat wounded and confused expression on her sweet face, 'I have to seek my fortune. I have to find my prince.' She looked from one to the other, and added forlornly, 'My tower's gone … I have nowhere else to go.'

'Look, princess,' sighed Mally, 'we're sorry about your tower and everything –'

Edith snorted.

'– But we can't take you with us.'

'Why not?' pouted Isolda.

Edith muttered something which sounded suspiciously like; 'Because I hate you.'

'We just can't,' said Mally firmly, and began to steer Edith away.

'Wait! Please!'

With an impatient huff Mally turned to find that Isolda had picked up her rose pink skirts and hurried after them, daintily picking her way through fallen white stones.

'You have to take me! You have to!'

'No, we don't!' snapped Edith waspishly.

Mally breathed in and out, hands on hips. Her head was beginning to swim from this morning's exertion. She looked at Edith.

The girl seemed to sense her gaze.

'No,' she said, shaking her head vehemently, 'no. She is not coming with us.'

* * *

'I can't believe you let her come with us.'

Half a day later and Mally had to admit that it hadn't been one of her best decisions.

Isolda spent most of the time _talking_, about how Mally and Edith were her "fairies", about how excited she was about Marmoreal, and about her "prince charming".

'And he'll have the most gorgeous dark eyes, sort of brooding and melancholy … and dark hair like black chocolate – not curly but a little messy, but perfectly messy … and pale skin … strong, angular features … dark and tall …'

'You're very precise,' Mally noted dryly, and heard Edith snort with barely stifled laughter beside her.

'Just a little choosy,' said Isolda innocently, shooting Mally a white-toothed, pink-lipped smile. 'I'm sure you would be about your prince charming.'

Before Mally's mind had time to be reminded and before her heart had time to ache Edith snorted again, grounding her.

'There's no such thing,' said Edith a little too fiercely, 'there's no such thing.' She tossed her head with contempt, as if to say the matter was closed.

Isolda sighed.

'My feet ache so,' she said woefully. 'And I'm hungry.' She looked down at Mally hopefully. 'Could I please have some ice cream and some new shoes?'

The first time she had done this Mally had been even more taken aback than when she had found herself suddenly proclaimed a fairy godmother, but now the novelty had long worn very thin indeed, along with her patience.

'I told you, Isolda,' she said, struggling to keep calm, 'I can't do magic. And neither can Edith.'

Isolda sighed again, this time more mournfully.

There was a small silence, before Edith spoke up suddenly.

'You know,' she said slyly, 'if you carried us we could get there much faster. I'm sure the White Queen would have lots of ice cream. And the new dresses and the water and the pink lemonade and the pony. We wouldn't weigh a thing.'

Isolda wrinkled her nose in distaste.

'But where would I carry you? I have no pockets.'

'We could sit on your shoulders,' suggested Mally.

The dainty little nose wrinkled further.

'But you'd be up in my hair,' she said, touching the soft, loose gold curls with one hand.

'Oh, yes, heaven forbid we touch your sainted hair,' muttered Edith, and it was Mally's turn to snigger.

When they set up camp that night it took them some time to reconcile Isolda with the idea of sleeping _outdoors_, with _no blankets_, on the _bare ground_.

'Won't I be cold?'

'That's what the fire's for,' said Mally as she hauled sticks into place.

'You'll leave the fire burning all night? What if it spreads?'

'It won't spread, you silly chit,' said Mally, all patience lost after spending the whole day in the stupid girl's company.

When they all finally lay down to sleep Mally could hear her singing faintly from the other side of the fire.

* * *

Mally woke the next morning to see Edith's face looming over her.

'Ah!' she yelped.

'Ah!' Edith yelped in turn, jumping back and skidding into the ashes of the previous night's fire.

'Good morning to you too,' said Mally, sitting up.

'I can see!' said Edith jubilantly, 'I can see again!'

'That's g–'

All at once Mally found herself tackled to the ground in a hug.

'Thank you,' said Edith sincerely as she pulled away.

Mally brushed herself off and glanced at the girl.

'You … you did well,' she said gruffly, and reached out and patted Edith's shoulder somewhat hesitantly. She was rewarded with a smile that grew into a proud, beaming grin.

'Mally?'

'Hmm?'

'I really do believe we can find her.'

Mally felt something stick in her throat as she looked at the girl; the girl who suddenly seemed so young.

_You'll let her down, Alice,_ she thought to herself, _just like you let the rest of us down._

And she suddenly felt inexplicably hurt, so hurt she that wanted to cry.

'Mally?' Edith looked almost concerned. The sight of it was too strange.

_You shouldn't look like that,_ Mally wanted to say. _You're much too young._

'She'll be fine, Mally.' There was no room for doubt in that little voice.

_You shouldn't be comforting me._

And yet Mally was compelled to slightly admire her foolish and unwavering loyalty – sympathise with it even.

'We'll see,' she replied, swallowing the burn in her throat. 'How's your leg?'

Edith winced.

'Don't remind me.'

'That bad?'

'It's started throbbing,' said Edith. 'I hate throbbing more than aching or stinging.'

She looked over at Isolda, who was still fast asleep over the other side of the fire pit, her back turned to them, golden curls rippling down her neck to pool on the ground.

'She's revoltingly pretty,' Edith said in disgust. 'I bet she has dimples.'

Mally laughed.

'She has dimples, doesn't she?'

When Isolda finally woke, sweetly demanding breakfast, (a bacon sandwich), and was not-so-sweetly denied by Edith and Mally, the trio started off towards Marmoreal again. Isolda was walking in silence, which was a clear sign of how annoyed she was.

'Will you walk a little faster?' she said after a while.

'We can't,' said Mally, 'you're bigger than us. We're going as fast as we can and Edith's leg is stuffed.'

Isolda stopped, her skirts swaying gently. She heaved a dainty sigh and then lowered a hand.

'Hop on then.'

Mally jumped onto her hand, pulling a slightly reluctant Edith on after her. Isolda began a steady, graceful walk towards the rolling hills in the distance.

* * *

By late afternoon they crossed the border into Marmoreal. On the horizon they could just see the White Queen's castle, rising above the surrounding land on a high hilltop; a vague spiralling shape of white against the green hills.

Isolda was plainly feeling put-upon.

'Is there a problem?' said Mally sharply after a series of long and rather tragic sniffs from the young woman.

'Oh, it's nothing …' she said, waving her free hand delicately.

When someone says, "it's nothing" in such a way, they really mean to make it plain that it is actually something, and they are simply too much of a selfless martyr to burden others with their woes.

'Alright, then,' Mally shrugged.

'Well …'

'Oh, here we go …'

'I just … I feel like a mule,' sniffed Isolda, 'although I know you must both be awfully tired to make me carry you …'

'Must she trail off her sentences like that?' muttered Edith. 'If she wants to put us down why doesn't she dump us on the ground?'

'Because she's a twipping naffter, that's why,' Mally said to her under her breath.

'We cannae faergit she's mair refainit than us, Mally,' Edith whispered back in the same mangled Outlandish, and they both dissolved into a fit of the sniggers.

'Did you two say something?' said Isolda sweetly.

'No,' said Edith.

'I could have sworn you were laughing just now.'

'No, no laughing,' said Mally, 'don't know what you're talking about.'

As Isolda pursed her pink lips and turned back to the horizon Edith and Mally exchanged a smirk.

* * *

By nightfall neither Mally nor Edith even had the energy to mock their new companion in Outlandish. They both sat cupped in Isolda's hands, Edith looking rather pale underneath all the grime and Mally watching her carefully out of the corner of one eye. The girl's leg was a dark, sticky mess, the makeshift bandage having long seeped through with blood.

'I'm sure I have blisters,' said Isolda.

'We'll be at Marmoreal soon,' said Mally, barely paying her any attention by now.

'We'd better be.'

'Yes,' said Mally, watching Edith's gaze slide in and out of focus, 'we'd better be.'

* * *

Late that night Isolda's slippered feet crunched along the white gravel drive that lead to the White Castle. The wide path wound between two colossal white chess pawns, over a clear, blue lake, and up the hill to where the Castle was perched.

Mally shook Edith awake gently, pointing silently at the Castle. The girl's weary face was lit with wonder by the sight.

The White Castle was an elegantly constructed palace of white marble, with spires and turrets and twisting towers that rose high into the night sky. The shapes of chess-pieces could be picked out here and there; a rook of a tower on one side, a bishop turret spiralling upwards. Mally could hear the sounds of the waterfalls rushing off the nearby cliffs; smell the dewy sweet freshness to the air. The whole Castle glowed against its backdrop of inky black, star-scattered sky.

Edith smiled, and once again Mally could almost see a ghost of Alice in that smile – a different Alice, an Alice without the shadows of poor sleep under her eyes. It was an Alice who hadn't yet been made to grow up; the child Alice that Mally had known such a long, long time ago.

'It's wonderful,' Edith breathed, closing her eyes as if full from feasting on the sight.

'It's simply breath-taking,' said Isolda, gazing at the Castle ardently, 'even more beautiful than the stories used to say. The white marble! Oh, and the chess theme, it's adorable!'

Mally was tempted to stick her sword into Isolda's palm.

As they neared the castle doors the drive narrowed, lined by blossom trees on either side. Their fragrance filled the air, and just when Mally was afraid that Isolda would attempt more poetry over it, the huge dark wood doors at the end of the drive swung open. Warm light spilt out onto the pavement, and the silhouette of a footman side stepped into view.

Isolda's pace quickened eagerly up the stone steps, her face shining with excitement.

'Greetings, maiden,' said the footman as they reached him. He was clothed entirely in white, his uniform immaculate. 'What brings you to Marmoreal?'

Before Isolda could begin to spout any nonsense about fairy godmothers or promises of ice cream Mally stood up in Isolda's hand.

'Mallymkun to see Queen Mirana,' she said clearly. 'And quickly, please, Heem. The girl here is badly injured.' She indicated the sleeping Edith's bloodied leg.

Heem the footman peered at Edith, jumping back at the sight of her as though startled.

'Goodness. Yes, yes …' He shut the doors behind them and hurried off, beckoning, 'This way, this way.'

They followed him through the spacious white Hall and into the maze of corridors beyond. He led them through corridor after corridor and they steadily climbed stairs. When Mally was about to ask how much further they had to go, Heem stopped abruptly.

'Wait here, please.' He nodded politely and then disappeared down another corridor.

A few moments later he returned.

'Her Majesty the White Queen,' he said with another nod, before dissolving into the shadows dutifully to reveal Mirana behind him; her white hair loose, a shawl as intricate as a spider's web clutched over her nightgown.

'Oh, your Majesty,' Isolda simpered in her sweet way, curtseying. 'Isolda Celwydd.'

Mirana looked ever so slightly bewildered for a moment, before smiling back graciously.

'I was told Mallymkun had come for help,' she said, scanning the floor at Isolda's feet.

'Right here, your Highness,' said Mally, peering over Isolda's delicate fingers.

'Mallymkun,' said the Queen, her smile growing more genuine, 'I've told you before you are permitted to call me by my first name.'

'It's a sign of respect, ain't it?' said Mally. At any other time she would have been mortified to have woken the Queen but she couldn't keep Edith waiting any longer. 'We do need your help, Mirana. This is Edith Manchester. She's Alice's niece.'

Mirana's eyes widened, and Mally thought she saw a sadness flicker in them momentarily before being smoothly covered by calm neutrality. She bent over Isolda's outstretched hands, white hair falling like a curtain around Mally and Edith.

'I see … Come with me.'

She led them downstairs and through the twisting corridors once more. They reached the kitchens finally, and Mirana floated busily over to her workbench; neatly cluttered with jars and packets and containers of bizarre ingredients and implements.

She instructed Isolda to set Edith and Mally down on the tabletop as she began to mix ingredients.

'What happened, Mally?'

Mally explained about Edith's sudden arrival in Underland, her insistence that Alice was still alive and somewhere in their world, their rather disastrous meeting with Tarrant Hightopp, and their subsequent run in with the Evisceraker and Isolda.

'Evisceraker. Hmm …' the White Queen murmured softly, a tiny frown creasing the pale skin between her eyes as she mashed something into a paste vigorously.

Isolda seemed quite in awe of the Queen, watching her with silent admiration. Mally sat cross-legged beside Edith, who was slipping in and out of her dream-like state as Mally carefully untied the bandage and washed the wound out.

'Did I really drown, Mally?' the girl muttered softly.

'Drown?'

'Ravings,' said Mirana, setting down a knife smeared with green paste and some neatly cut pieces of white, sweet-smelling cloth next to Mally. 'Rub this into the cut and then redress it with this. We'll have to give her ulpelkuchun after it's healed over a little more or the stretching might tear it further.'

There was a small silence as Mally did as she was directed, catching half-mumbles of Edith's slurred speech. Mirana soon carefully dripped a sliver of a clear potion into the girl's mouth.

'It should put her to sleep,' she said, recapping the cork with a flourish and smiling her usual slightly vacant smile, as if her mind were elsewhere.

'Your majesty,' said Mally hesitantly, 'would it be alright if I left Edith here for a while?'

'You're all welcome to stay as long as you need, of course.'

'I have to go find the Hatter,' said Mally, 'we got split up when the Evisceraker attacked us.'

Mirana smiled comfortingly, 'Tarrant will cope just fine, I suspect.'

'But the Evisceraker could have –'

'Tarrant passed through here half a day before you did,' said the Queen, 'he wasn't at all injured, if a bit malnourished.'

'Half a day? But …' stammered Mally, completely taken aback.

'He did mention to expect a visit from you in the next couple of days or so. I was considering sending a search party out soon. He took the Bearer's Stone from the Vorpal Sword with him - he seemed to be heading towards Tulgey Wood.'

'But … but …' Mally was stumped for words. She felt more than a twinge of betrayal. He had just left them, with an Evisceraker after them and an injured Edith, just so that he could get a head start on finding Alice by himself? The thought stung badly. 'You mean, he's left us behind?'


	10. The Pig in the Kitchen

**Disclaimer:**

While Josephine is nagging me,

To finish off the story,

I'm far too busy learning Welsh:

Y stori yw mo 'm stori.

Fy Cymraeg yn ofnadwy.

* * *

**_CHAPTER NINE – STONE TROUBLES AND THE PIG IN THE KITCHEN_**

Earlier that day, deep in a forest some distance from Marmoreal, the Hatter had been experiencing some troubles with his guidance system.

When he had taken the blue stone from the hilt of the Vorpal Sword he had expected that it would glow to direct him, or perhaps grow warm when he faced the right direction. Instead he had discovered that it preferred a far less subtle means of communication.

'Not that way!' it barked at him for the tenth time. 'Are you an idiot, man? You'll never find her if you go that way!'

The voices it spoke with changed regularly, along with, or so it seemed, its personality. It appeared to be speaking with the ghosts of its Bearers, and either the previous Bearers were not half as agreeable as Alice or the Stone had simply taken the worst aspects of each Bearer's personality; the harsher sides that took over in battle. These voices had so far ranged from that of a frail old man, to a young, cocksure lad, to a bossy lady and even that of two very young girls – one of whom was very prone to tantrums. The one thing all the voices seemed to have in common was their dislike of him, (or perhaps that was the Stone talking), and their habit of telling him where not to go instead of where to go.

'FOOL!' it screeched at him as he steeped sideways to avoid walking straight into a tree. 'BLUNDERING OAF! We have lost the scent again, thanks to your tomfoolery!'

'You must walk in a straight line,' said another voice imperiously, 'or we can't keep track of where we're headed; it shifts around so.'

Tarrant could have sworn he had passed that bush earlier in the day.

'If I may say so, you don't seem to be leading me in a straight –'

'Don't speak,' ordered the voice of the bossy lady, 'every time your mouth opens some of your mental retardation leaks out.'

'And you mayn't say so, so there!' added one of the little girls.

Not for the first time that day Tarrant wished that Alice was the one directing him instead.

'You're dreaming again!'

'Stop that!' snapped a girl.

'And don't turn left!'

'What do you mean, "don't turn left"?' shouted the cocksure man. 'He has to turn left sometime. I'd say once he reaches that bush.'

'What bush, you dunce?'

'That bush there, you blind old biddy!'

'Don't you call me a biddy, young man, I've been fighting in the Underland Wars before you were even a twinkle in your Tad's eye!'

'Doesn't surprise me, granny!'

'GRANNY? Why, you insolent –'

'Granny, Granny, Granny, Granny …' sung the two little girls.

Another downside to the multiple voices, Tarrant thought to himself as he trudged steadily onwards, was that they frequently argued. They usually only stopped bickering to pelt him with insults and tell him he was going the wrong way entirely and had been for hours. At times they would even descend into utter chaos, spewing out nonsense words and phrases until his head ached.

'A boat beneath a sunny sky,' he murmured to himself, blocking out the screams and the shouts and retreating inside himself.

'Lingering onward dreamily,

'In a winter of July;

'Children three that nestle near,

'Eager eye and willing ear …'

Tarrant could still feel the guilt of the past days churning inside him; guilt at deserting Mallymkun. When he had emerged from the forest to see Shifting Lake stretched out before him his heart had twisted painfully. Far away on the other side of the vast Lake he could spy the small rowboat bobbing at the water's edge, and his heart twisted tighter.

'Long has paled that sunny sky,

'Echoes fade and memories die,

'Autumn frosts have slain July.'

A small, ever idle part of him wondered if the reeds he had helped her pick still lay forgotten in the rowboat.

He had seen the creature follow Mally and the girl, had spotted the commotion around the tower on the island just as the tower collapsed onto the monster. For one terrifying moment he thought Mally too had been buried underneath the rubble, until he spotted her scurrying over it, shifting debris around. After that had come a long moment of hesitation.

Tarrant wanted to find Alice by himself. He needed to talk to her before anyone else did. He needed to put things right between them. Having her niece there demanding that she returned to the Overland immediately wouldn't do at all. He wanted Alice to himself, just once.

_That was where things started last time, now, wasn't it?_

He could stay and make sure Mallymkun and the niece were alright, or he could continue on to Marmoreal without them. On feet so much larger than theirs he would easily reach the White Castle before them; he could explain to the Queen, take the Bearer's Stone and be gone long before they even arrived.

Mallymkun was uninjured, he had told himself as he turned away. The girl was likely to be just as fine. They would both be fine, just fine.

And so he had gone on ahead, taken the Stone and continued the rest of his journey alone.

'Dreaming again!'

'Stupid man!'

'Stupid, foolish man!'

'Stupid, foolish man always dreaming! It'll get him killed!'

'Foolish man, foolish man, foolish man …'

The voices whirled around him, dizzying and noisy.

'Has his head in the clouds instead of looking where he's going!'

'He'll never even see that rhino coming!'

'What rhino?'

'There is no rhino!'

'What gate? There is no gate, we have no gate!'

'PIES! PIES! PIRELLI'S PIES!'

Around and around and around they went; gaining in volume and intensity and brutality.

'There's no knowing where we're going.'

'Where we're rowing, wasn't it?'

'Oh, do forgive me.'

'You play piano terribly!'

'It was only the second time this week –'

'Three times!'

'The widow was with child!'

'You do faint so, Johnny.'

'The point still stands: One cannot buy a carriage with cookies!'

'Well, one cannot pay for cookies with ham!'

'Why was there ham in my pocket?'

'Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeu–'

'_SILENCE!'_ he roared.

The voices ceased immediately. The surrounding wood seemed to ring with the bellowed word in the tense hush that followed. It lasted only for a second. The next moment all the voices broke out again.

'Thinks he has the right to shout at us!'

'Don't even know why I bother!'

'What terrible manners!'

'In my day –'

'He shouted!' sobbed one of the girls. 'He shouted at us!'

'I WANT HIM GONE!' shrieked the other girl. 'I REFUSE TO TELL HIM WHICH WAY! I REFUSE!'

Tarrant was forcibly reminded of Edith. Then an idea occurred to him. He dug in his pockets, pulling out a large wad of spare scrap calico. He wrapped this tightly around the blue Stone, muffling its cries and protests and shoving it in his pocket before continuing in a straight line, a small smile on his face.

* * *

Later that day Tarrant could feel the prickling sensation of being watched. He could hear something slithering along the ground behind him, invisible each time he turned to look. The noises continued for some time as he picked his way through the forest, far from any path or trail; pulling the Stone from his pocket occasionally to ask for directions. Just as he was climbing over a fallen tree a lisping voice whispered into his ear.

'You are heading thriaght for dithathter, you know.'

Tarrant tumbled off the log in surprise, stumbling onto the ground and scuffing his knees. They stung as he got to his feet, coming eye to eye with a narrow, reptilian face. It was a Tree Serpent, striped brown and mottled green; dropping its head down from a branch above.

'Thraight for dithathter,' it lisped, nodding sagely.

The Hatter was confused.

'Pardon me, I don't …'

'A cliff,' said the Tree Serpent, 'you're about to walk off a cliff.'

'Oh, I see!'

'No, you don't,' said the Tree Serpent gloomily, 'if you'd walked a yard further you would have truly theen.'

'Yes,' said Tarrant, 'well. I suppose it's a good thing I didn't.'

'I thuppose tho, yeth,' sighed the Tree Serpent. 'But perhapth I thould have let you after all. It would have exthiting.'

Tarrant gave a tense titter, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable standing so near the Serpent. He stepped away. That was better.

Keeping one eye on the Tree Serpent, he pulled the Bearer's Stone out of his pocket, unravelling its tight bundle of cloth.

'Which way?'

'YOU'RE GOING OFF A CLIFF, YOU EEJIT!'

Tarrant winced.

'Yes, I have been. Which way now, if you please?'

'Left,' said a sulky man.

'Many thanks,' said the Hatter, bundling the Stone up again before it could protest and stuffing it back into his pocket. 'And many thanks to you, my friend,' he added to the Tree Serpent, which he noticed was suddenly watching him with keen interest.

'Batibat,' it hissed.

'I beg your pardon?'

'That'th my name.'

'Ah.' He tipped his hat. 'Tarrant Hightopp. And now I must be going. I'm in rather a hurry, you know. Fairfarren.'

And he turned to leave, walking away without seeing the Tree Serpent merge back into the shadows, greed in its beady yellow eyes.

* * *

As the Hatter continued onwards smoothly the sun fell in the sky, and the shadows, too, fell, dimming the forest into a nightworld of dark green foliage and turquoise light. If it weren't for the scent of the olken trees around him Tarrant would have thought himself underwater. Soon it became apparent from his weary, weighed-down limbs that he would have to rest.

'And I mustn't drive myself until I faint right in front of Alice,' he said to himself as he settled down to sleep between two tree roots. 'Just think of it. It wouldn't do at all.'

After the days of travel and the headache he had gotten from the Stone, the Hatter was exhausted, and was soon fast asleep; hat pulled down over his eyes.

That night while Tarrant slept something slithered through the shadows around him. It slid over his stomach, and he felt a chill in his sleep and shivered, dreaming of burnt out, blackened villages and cold water on his skin; of a woman who would never look at him the way he looked at her, and of shouting and screaming.

When he jolted awake the next morning it was because of the cold, like a frozen hand slipping down the back of his neck. He climbed to his feet and hurried in the last direction the Stone had pointed him, wishing to send some warmth back into his toes and drive the remnants of the nightmare from his mind. He had travelled for quite a while before he remembered to check his bearings with the Stone.

Even as he unwrapped it he felt a sense of foreboding in his stomach – the feeling that something was quite definitely not right. The Stone was completely silent, not even mumbling defiantly as he unwound each layer of fabric, getting faster as he went, dread growing. Finally the last bit of fabric came away and in his hand lay a bland, grey rock.

The Hatter's yell rang through the forest once again, startling birds from the trees.

* * *

That same morning Edith woke to find herself tucked neatly under several layers of white down blankets, a huge soft bed and pillow beneath her, a second cream nightgown over her tattered dress; gloriously warm and comfortable beyond belief. It was a long while before she could convince herself to move, but when she did she realised that her leg was no longer painful. She sat up eagerly, wriggling out from under the blankets and sitting atop the enormous pillow to examine her leg. There was a white bandage around it, the fragrance of the cloth not quite hiding the fact that whatever ointment had been applied to the wound smelt strongly of peas and ham.

'Don't take it off just yet.'

Edith looked up to see Mally sitting on the small glass table at the bedside, leaning back comfortably.

'Morning,' she said with a grin.

'Morning,' Edith replied somewhat distractedly, picking at the bandage.

'Leave it alone.'

'It feels fine; can't I take it off?'

'The Queen said to let it heal for a bit longer,' said Mally firmly, 'but I've got a surprise for you.'

'The Queen? We're at the White Castle?'

Mally gestured around them, and Edith saw that the answer was obvious.

The glass table Mally sat on had a leg shaped like a chess pawn, and Edith could see more chess pieces dotted through out the room; on the headboard of her bed, around the edge of the mirror of the dressing table, the legs of which were also pawns. The handles of the white and silver brushes on the dressing table were bishops, and the bottle of perfume beside them was a fat knight. The whole room was in bedecked in white, so much that Edith wondered how on earth they kept the place clean. White, gauzy curtains fluttered at the wide, open window, through which light streamed into the room. The same gauzy, bead-edged material hung over the bed, and a soft, fluffy rug spread over the white marble floor beneath. It was the kind of bedroom she had dreamed of as a child.

The awe must have been visible on her face because Mally laughed, and Edith's attention was drawn back to her.

'Surprise?' she said. 'There's more?'

'Here you go,' Mally chuckled, and offered her a tiny plate through a gap in the bed curtains. Upon the plate was tiny sliver of cake.

'Ulpel – upple – up – The thingy …'

'Ulpelkuchun,' said Mally, with an eye roll. 'Take it.'

Edith looked at it, sitting enticingly on the plate, but didn't take it.

'What's the matter?' Mally seemed confused.

'I … I won't be the same size as you anymore.'

'No, you won't,' she said bemusedly. 'Isn't that the point?'

Still she hesitated, looking from the cake to Mally and back again.

'But you're my only friend here.'

Mally's eyes widened in surprise. After a moment her mouth quirked into a smile.

'Just take it, you fool,' she said. 'You'll be better off your own size.'

She dropped off the glass table and scurried across the room, stopping as she reached the door.

'I'll be outside. There'll be fresh clothes in the wardrobe,' she said. 'Get washed and dressed and we can go down for breakfast.' She paused in pushing the door open. 'And size makes no difference to a friendship. I should know. All my friends are bigger than me.' With another fleeting smile she slipped out, the door shutting behind her.

Edith turned her gaze to the plate of ulpelkuchun on the table. After a moment of staring blankly at it, she climbed awkwardly to her feet, slipping and sliding on the fat pillow, and made her way over to the edge of the bed. She leapt over the gap, landing with a slight scuffle on the glass tabletop.

'Perhaps it will be good to go back to being my right size,' she thought aloud as she reached for the ulpelkuchun.

Edith stopped just as she was about to take a bite, and jumped off the table onto the floor. She was glad she had considered this before eating, as the moment she swallowed the nibble of cake whole she grew at an alarming rate, ripping right out of her clothes and shooting upwards – rather like a telescope, she thought. Just as she became worried she would overshoot her actual size she slowed and stopped, noting with interest that the bandage around her leg had grown with her without ripping.

The room seemed much smaller now, no longer the cavernous chamber it was before, rather a small and charming bedroom. Remembering Mally's instructions Edith approached a second door which she found led to a small, white, and spotless bathroom containing a bathtub, a wide mirror, and a large amount of soaps and bath salts.

Edith hurried to clean herself, remembering that Mally was waiting for her outside, but even so it took her quite some time to shift the layers of grime she had accumulated over the past month or so of non-stop travel. Her usually tangled hair gave her particular grief; the leaves and twigs that had entwined themselves in it took some persuading to relinquish their hold. By the time she had emerged from the steaming bathroom and pulled on the various undergarments and the white dress she had found in the wardrobe, she felt scrubbed raw but wonderfully clean. Peering into the mirror, brush in hand, to attempt to tame her hair, she jumped in surprise at her reflection.

The girl in the mirror didn't look like her at all. Her face, though much thinner than she remembered, had colour in it; her eyes seemed to have some sort of spark to them. But it was more than that, Edith thought to herself as she struggled to brush the rattails of knotted hair, still damp from the bath. It was something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

When she finally gave up her hair as a lost cause and twisted it into a jumbled rope of a plait which she secured with string pulled off the remnants of her old ripped dress, Edith stood back, studying herself. Aside from the ridiculously long, trailing sleeves of the embroidered dress, she almost looked … not pretty, not nice, it was another word, a word she couldn't find. Alive? Different?

'You done yet?' called Mally impatiently through the door.

'You can come in,' said Edith absently, still puzzling over her reflection.

She heard the door open.

'Yeah, that's what this place does to you.'

Edith turned to look at her. She was watching Edith stare at herself in the looking glass. She seemed so far away down on the floor. Edith couldn't help but chuckle.

'What?'

'This is so strange.'

Mally shot her an exasperated look, then shrugged.

'Come on,' she said, 'you can give me a lift downstairs.'

When she had lifted Mally onto her shoulder the Dormouse directed her through the twisting, maze-like corridors; all white and airy and almost identical. Flights of stairs would suddenly appear without warning, doors would open in their faces as courtiers and servants bustled to and fro. The whole Castle seemed to be a hive of a bizarre mixture of frenzied and dreamy activity.

By the time they reached the kitchens Edith's stomach was grumbling loudly, and Mally climbed down and ran ahead. Still Edith trailed, half lost in thought, feeling so different. So new.

'_That's what this place does to you.'_

'_If you want people to be nice to you, don't scream at them.'_

'_If you can't control it then you don't deserve to have it.'_

'_Wants and needs are entirely different things.'_

It was as if she had been walking down a long, long road, for so long that she had forgotten where she was going, and suddenly she had spotted a flicker of light glimmering on the horizon that she had never seen before.

_Perhaps if I was nicer_, she thought, _and perhaps if I didn't scream at people, and controlled my temper, and didn't demand things all the time, perhaps people would like me._

_I shall be nice,_ she vowed, determined. _I shall be nice like Aunt Alice was nice to me._

With this in mind she breathed deeply, and, with a smile she hoped was calm and confident, pushed open the doors into the kitchens.

The first thing that hit her senses was the rich, mouth-watering scent of soup. Exactly what kind of soup she couldn't tell, but whatever it was it smelt delicious. The next thing was laughter and chatter, and underneath it a song, weaving steadily between the sounds of breakfast talk.

'Beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a hot tureen … Who for such dainties would not stoop? Soup of the evening, beautiful soup … pennyworth only of beautiful soup …'

The kitchen, (predictably, white), was filled with late breakfasters like herself, all dressed in white. It took Edith some time to spot Mallymkun, camouflaged as she was wearing a fresh white tunic, with her white fur. She scanned the crowd of white for a crown, wondering if the Queen was among them. She didn't seem to be.

The breakfasters were seated at a table, which, though long, did not seem to be large enough for all of the courtiers she had seen in the corridors this morning – no doubt breakfast was not a formal meal at the Castle. The room was expansive and white, and cleaner than any kitchen she had ever seen. The stoves and ovens were situated at the back of it, before her there was another table upon which sat a great many jars of strange, rather gruesome things – including what appeared to be a large collection of eyeballs, Edith noticed – and several doors led off the main room, perhaps into pantries and the like. It was from one of these doors, an open one not far from her, that the dreamy tune was drifting from; and as Edith stood at the door, transfixed by the hustle and bustle and whiteness of it all, someone backed out of the door, his arms full of onions and turnips.

He moved awkwardly, with gangly limbs, like someone who had just had a very sudden growth spurt and had not yet quite adjusted to it, and when he turned and spied Edith over the onions and turnips he held he froze completely. He stared at her, his mouth falling open, his eyes shining with pure, ardent adoration.

Edith had never received such a look from a boy in all her life, and was understandably shocked. She teetered on her feet, staring right back at him in bewilderment. It was then that she realised that he wasn't looking at her at all.

Isolda was standing behind her. She was even lovelier now that she was clean and fresh; her golden hair looked impossibly soft and glossy and her cheeks were flushed a faint pink. Unlike Mally and Edith, she hadn't traded her garments for the uniform white of the palace, and it seemed that her rose pink dress had been cleaned overnight. She was looking the kitchen boy over like a buyer casting a well-trained eye over a piece of meat, and she didn't appear to like what she saw. He seemed far from the dream prince Isolda had spoken of earlier; his face was neither strong nor angular, neither was his hair dark or perfectly messy – it was a wild shock of white which, frankly, gave him the look of someone recently struck by lightening. As for his eyes, they were far from brooding and melancholy – bright, young, and extremely naïve.

As he saw Isolda return his gaze he gulped and seemed to lose control of his arms; the onions and turnips went flying in all directions and he stumbled and fumbled around trying to catch them, failing spectacularly. He managed to catch one on the very tips of his fingers and clutched it to his chest, gazing at Isolda with absolutely mortified eyes. Then he started forward, making his way towards the girl. Unfortunately he found that Edith was in the way. It appeared that he hadn't spotted her in his path, being preoccupied with the vision of pure beauty behind her and all.

'Ouch!'

'Oh, I-I'm so sorry!' he cried, cringing away from her as if afraid she would strike him, although this was probably a reasonable fear in Edith's case. 'I didn't see you there. You probably should be more careful where you stand,' he added.

In that moment all of Edith's previous good thoughts about being nice to people from now on flew straight out the window, along with the calm she had felt earlier. She crossed her arms, assuming a battle stance.

'Well, I'm sorry I got your way,' she snapped, her face burning, 'next time I'll be careful to stand where even an utter _twit_ will be able to see me. It's only a pity I'm not less solid otherwise you could have walked straight through me and I wouldn't have bothered you at all!'

'Edith!' said a voice sharply.

Edith looked down to see Mally at her feet, shooting her a rather reproving look.

'Being rude again, are we?'

Edith scowled at her, turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchens, not caring that the doors banged loudly behind her.

* * *

Mally found her on one of the top floors, huddled into a bay window that overlooked the gardens spread out far below; a crumpled bundle of white dress and silly sleeves and messy hair. Her plait had come undone it seemed, and she had drawn her legs up to her chest, leaning her chin on her knees as she frowned fiercely at the beautiful gardens as if they had done her a great personal wrong, all the while looking strangely fragile.

'What's wrong with you?'

The girl jumped, looking around, then saw who it was and returned to glaring out at the midday sunshine.

Mally climbed up to sit at her feet, looking down out of the window, and then, feeling awash with vertigo, looking away hurriedly.

They sat for a moment in silence before Edith spoke in a quiet voice.

'Do you ever wish you looked different?'

Mally met her gaze. She nodded silently.

'I do,' sighed Edith. 'Sometimes … sometimes I think …' she fumbled with the words, as if they were stuck in her throat and hard to spit out, 'Sometimes I think that if I'd been … well … If I'd been what everyone had wanted … Things – things would have been …'

She frowned more heavily, pushing unruly hair behind her ear roughly. Mally remained silent, not quite knowing what to say.

'The way you look shouldn't matter,' she began, but Edith cut her off.

'Not to me,' she said fiercely, 'but to other people. Even if you can tell yourself you don't care, you still know other people do. Even though everyone says "looks don't matter" and even though it should be about – about …' she gestured wildly, 'about being … Being a good person – being yourself even if no one likes you – being _alive!_' she said passionately, her eyes shining. She fell silent then, fists clenched around bunches of white skirt. A tiny part of Mally wondered with amusement how long that skirt would remain spotlessly white.

After another moment with the only sounds being the distant snatches of life from the floors below them, Edith seemed to calm down, leaning back against the side of the bay window.

'So tell me how this connects with you shouting at Pig?' asked Mally.

'Pig?' Edith snickered. 'Is that his name? I thought his nose looked a bit funny.'

'Pigmeckun Duke. We found him in the Outlands years ago. Took ages to convince him to speak. Still doesn't seem to like talking about his past; either he won't tell us where he came from or he can't remember.' Mally could remember that day, when Alice and Tarrant had returned from their game of Find Shifting Lake with a starved, mute boy in tow. 'Mirana took a shine to him, treats him like one of her own kin. After a while she set him to work in the kitchens 'cause he can't stand so many courtiers at once – flinches at the slightest thing he does. Don't know what he could've done to upset even you.'

Edith shrugged sulkily.

'He walked straight into me. Only had eyes for that girl.'

'Ah.'

Another stretch of silence, though more comfortable this time.

'Mally?'

'Hmm?'

'Can you teach to fight?'

Mally blinked.

'Where did this come from?'

Edith shrugged again.

'Can you? What with the size difference and everything?'

'Probably, if you look carefully enough.' She raised an eyebrow at the girl. 'You're not going to turn a sword on Pig are you? The Queen won't love you for that. More protective of him than any mother hen, she is.'

'Pig, no. Isolda I can't yet answer for.'

'Well, Isolda. I don't have any problem with that,' Mally grinned. 'Why the sudden urge to learn to fight, though?'

She half expected her to shrug the question off again, or scowl at her and turn away, or snap at her, or any one of the various things she had come to expect from this short-tempered child. But what she did was the one thing the Dormouse hadn't expected at all.

She looked at her hopefully, a sheepish half-smile on her face.

'Please?' she said.

* * *

**A/N:**

Perhaps you may have noticed it,

Perhaps you may have not,

The references that I have strewn throughout the text above,

A little nod to Burton films,

Or maybe several nods,

It's a weakness with me, I admit; a habit I have formed.

But tell me if you pick them out,

The references I leave,

For every time they're pointed out it makes me grin with glee.

So thanks again for reading,

'Cause that makes me happy too,

And the one thing to increase my joy would be a small review. :)


	11. Swordplay and Hatpins

**Disclaimer:**

Michael nags me on the net,

Howl, have you finished?

No, I haven't, cachau bant.

* * *

**_CHAPTER TEN – SWORDPLAY AND HATPINS_**

'GRAAAAAAGH!'

'What in the name of all Underland do you think you are doing?'

Edith tripped and went crashing to the ground, rolling across the cobbled white stones of the small courtyard, a sprawled mass of arms and legs. She sat up, dazed, and waved her stick-sword in the direction of the double of Mally she seemed to be seeing.

'Battle-cry?'

'B-battle …? Get up, you numpty.'

Edith staggered to her feet, almost tripping up on one of her sleeves again.

'And get those stupid-looking things out of the way,' Mally added.

Edith tossed her head haughtily, rolling up her sleeves with a great dignity which was unfortunately wasted by the way the stick she was using as a mock sword kept waggling in the air as she rolled.

'Now try again,' said Mally as she finished on both sleeves, 'and watch me carefully. You lunge forward, like this,' she demonstrated, stabbing the air with her hatpin, her footwork perfectly timed.

Edith's footwork was not so careful. She almost tripped yet again, this time on the hem of her dress, nearly impaling herself on her own stick.

Mallymkun had been attempting to teach Edith to lunge for the whole morning. After breakfast they had traveled down to one of the deserted courtyards in the lush gardens, thin mist from the waterfalls hanging around them. Edith had already managed to tear the hem of her dress in three places, and the girl's knees were so thoroughly scraped that Mally was considering moving onto the grass instead.

Mally had chosen to start with lunging, thinking that Edith would take to the sudden violent action like a duck to water, but she had simultaneously over and under-estimated the girl. Edith put far too much strength into her lunges, and her footwork was, to put it mildly, atrocious. She tired herself out by stabbing the air so viscously that she kept lunging forwards all the way to the hard ground – Mally knew if she couldn't restrain her energy she wouldn't hold up in a fight at all.

By this time Edith was getting hot-tempered, as usual. Mally was beginning to lose patience with her.

'No, Edith!' Mally said for what felt like the thirteenth time. 'You can't do that – you can't run in screaming and waving your weapon at everything under the sun!'

'Then what do you suggest?'

'If you'd just watch –'

'Oh, it's so exciting!'

Both Mally and Edith whipped around to see Isolda peering out from a hedge corner, her hands clasped to her chest. A familiar shrinking head of white was peeking out from behind her, his eyes wide.

'You – you,' Edith spluttered, outraged, 'you were watching –' She turned bright red to the very tips of her ears.

'Shouldn't you be gushing over something else?' said Mally, crossing her arms and coming to stand beside Edith. 'Something inside?'

'Oh, oh, I'm sorry,' said Isolda, like someone apologising for spilling tea, 'erm … he's taking me on a tour of the gardens,' she explained, indicating Pig. A trademark sweet smile spread over her face. 'It's all so incredible. I've never seen such splendour.' A tragic shadow flitted over her face. 'Only that's not saying much, I suppose. I didn't have a comfortable upbringing.' She looked noble and tragic for a moment, like a woman who had been deserted by her lover and was about to throw herself off a cliff over it.

'Hmm,' grunted Mally. She looked at Edith. She was clenching and unclenching her fists, and seemed to be having an internal struggle over whether or not to punch Isolda in the face.

Pig, on the other hand, was watching Isolda with a mirrored tragic expression, as if he ached to hold her.

'But anyway,' said Isolda with a freshening breath in and out, smile snapping back into place, 'you're so doing ever so well.'

'"Ever so well"?' said Edith with an air of utmost disgust. 'Are you blind? I'm doing terribly.'

Isolda giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

'Sorry,' she said, dropping her graceful fingers, 'it's just that I remembered … you looked a little funny, you see. Not that you weren't doing splendidly, it's just, well … you weren't doing it quite right.'

'And I suppose you know how to do it right,' snapped Edith.

'Well, yes, actually,' said Isolda, her blue eyes modestly lowered.

'Of course you do!' Edith laughed derisively, waving her stick around in a rather hysterically scathing manner. 'Of course she does!'

'If I may?' A delicate palm was extended, and Mally found herself highly doubting that anyone with such smooth hands could be an expert swordsman.

Edith approached the older girl reluctantly, inching forwards with her nose wrinkled as if beauty and a pleasant disposition were infectious. She pressed the stick into Isolda's hand at arm's length and then backed away to stand beside Mally again, arms crossed, scowling heavily.

'It's more, well, sort of like this, you see,' said Isolda, and the stick spun in her hand, she darted forwards, and, with perfect balance and grace, thrust the stick into a non-existent target. Not for a moment did she scuffle or slip or slide, and when she was done the stick was spun around again and offered to Edith, who looked from it to Isolda and back again with narrowed eyes, perhaps suspecting trickery. Pig was in absolute awe, his mouth ajar.

Mally struggled to find an imperfection. The woman's footwork and force and control was flawless, and her balance was not a bit off.

'Didn't need all those twirls,' she said grudgingly.

'It's really quite easy, sweetheart,' said Isolda, addressing Edith and ignoring Mally's remark completely. 'You shouldn't have so much trouble with it,' she smiled.

Watching Edith, Mally thought for a heartbeat she saw something flash in her eyes, something that was more than anger and closer to absolute humiliation. The next second it was gone, torched by the sudden fire that raged up in its place.

'Get out.'

Isolda looked perfectly startled. She stepped back, one hand raised to her chest in innocent confusion.

'Who, me?'

'Yes, you, slurking you!'

'Edith,' Mally started, but their voices were louder than hers.

'I was only trying to help.'

'I don't care, I hate – I can't – ' Edith stumbled over the words erratically, 'I know, I know I can't do – I don't need you to tell me I'm – Oh, just go, before I strangle you!' she howled, snatching the stick out of her hand. Isolda stumbled back in surprise, eyes wide. Pig stepped out from behind her, shielding her with his skinny body.

'Now, just a moment, Miss Edith –'

'And you had better go too!' Edith bellowed, her hair almost rising on end in fury.

'Edith, CALM – DOWN!'

'Get off me, Mally! Go on, before I stick you both! And I don't care that I'm useless at lunging; I've got a stick and I'LL USE IT!'

From the look on her face Mally could believe it.

'Go on! Get! Shoo!' she screamed wildly, brandishing her stick like an old lady's cane. 'Go on!'

Pig shrank away from her, plainly, (and it was hard to blame him), terrified by the display. Then he seemed to remember Isolda behind him. He straightened slowly, painfully, as if struggling to bring himself to his full height. Edith stared him down fiercely – dark eyes into light, shooting a narrowed glance from his clenched fists and then back to his face, her own fists tightening around her stick as if daring him to _just try it_.

Mally half expected him to collapse back into his normal, cowering self any moment. But he didn't, returning Edith's glare with growing confidence.

'You – you leave her alone,' he said forcefully, his voice barley quavering.

'I will if she leaves _me_ alone,' Edith growled, her lips barely moving.

'_Edith_,' said Mally pointedly.

At the sound of the reprimand Edith broke off the glaring contest resentfully. Pig spared her one last triumphant glance before turning away and leading the wide-eyed Isolda with him.

Breathing heavily, Edith turned back to Mally, rolling up a sleeve that had fallen down. Her face was flushed red, and the little scratches she bore from the various tumbles she had taken earlier in the day glowed angrily.

'I hate them,' Edith declared, throwing her stick to the ground the better to roll up her falling sleeves. 'I hate them both. Ugh, and these stupid … sleeves!'

'You can't just hate Pig, you barely know him. And he's a nice boy.' Mally crossed her legs on the ground, watching Edith fume like a fresh pot of tea, flailing over her sleeves. 'Just give him a chance. People act …' she paused, a half-sigh escaping her tiredly, 'they act different when they're in love.'

She saw Edith shoot her an odd, furtive look; a look that she rather uncomfortably felt scan her for something. There was the slightest of gaps in the conversation, a gap that was somehow very awkward.

'Yes, well,' Edith continued bitterly, bending to pick up her stick, 'he didn't exactly give me a chance, did he?' Her sleeves fell down again and she let out a cry of rage, grabbing a hank of her own hair in anger. 'Oh, you _stupid_! _Fold_! Slurking, urpal, prigglit, sach …' her words descended into nonsense Outlandish vulgarity as she fumbled with her stick and her long, scuffed, embroidered sleeves. 'He's just like all of them back in the Otherland! You have to be special, you have to be pretty, you have to be _nice_ – all the time! What happens if you weren't born that way, what happens then?' Her voice had taken on an almost hysterical edge now, shrill and seething. 'Nobody takes any notice of you at all unless you scream at them, that's what!'

'Edith!' said Mally, half shouting herself.

The girl jumped, dropping her stick with a clatter.

'What?' she snarled, snatching it back up. 'You can't tell me off, Mally, you sound like my mother!' It was a sign of how angry she was that her voice barely hitched on the last word.

'If you start talking to me like that again I'll be worse than six mothers to you!' Mally snapped back. Then she bit her lip, trying as usual to be the calm one. 'Look. You're getting tired, and you're getting bad-tempered. Maybe we should leave this for another day.'

'What other day?' Edith turned away from her, pacing like a chained creature, sleeves everywhere. 'I've already wasted so much time and I need to find Alice! The Hatter's gone off into the forest again with the Stone, and he's had nearly two days' head start, and that's where the Evisceraker came from and I am _not_ going to be that defenceless again, I am _not_ giving this up, and _I am not leaving this for another day!_'

As her words reached a crescendo Mally snapped. Alice, Alice, Alice; it was always Alice, everything came down to _Alice._ It was her; she was always the reason behind everything, behind everyone. Without a second thought Mally whipped out her hatpin-sword – a flash of silver blade that was blissfully lightweight and perfectly balanced in her hand – and slashed at the hem of Edith's dress. It got awfully frustrating sometimes, being the calm one.

Edith turned and looked down at her in surprise, stumbling back.

'Then go! If you're so worried about your precious Alice why aren't you out chasing her already like the rest of bloody Underland?' Mally shouted, fury coursing through her tiny body, all of a sudden it was too much to hold all at once and it spilled out of her. 'Why don't you go and find Alice of Legend and take her back to your safe little pastel world Up Top so she can complete your lovely little family in your cosy little house? Why don't you both go and just _grow up_, because you don't need us anymore, and that's all we are to you; we're just imaginary friends to play with until you're too old for dollies! And one day you'll look back on us and laugh at how silly you were for believing in us, and how you must have been half mad to dream us all up; but guess what? After you wake up, the dream keeps going. And all the while we're down here going on with our lives, hurting and breaking and all going _mad_ and waiting, always _waiting_ for someone who is _never coming back!_'

Just as suddenly as it came, well over seven years of anger and bitterness was gone, and all that was left behind was the raw hurt that had been hiding behind it. It too seemed far too large for her tiny body, like a giant was squeezing her heart in its fist. And she wished, oh, she wished she were bigger, and then maybe the pain would not be so crippling. It spread from her heart into her throat, stinging, and it made her knees give way. She heard her hatpin clink as it fell to the ground with her. She could have died of shame.

After a long moment hunched into herself she heard Edith scuffle into a sitting position in front of her.

'We missed Alice too.'

'What?' Mally looked up, raising her head from her hands slowly. The girl wasn't looking at her, was watching a snap-dragonfly across the courtyard.

'How can you have missed her?' said Mally, fixing upon this, upon anything to stop her voice from cracking, 'She was always up _there_.'

'And she was always down here. She'd sit with us at the dinner table and she'd talk with us about the company's business and she'd tell me stories, but she was always down here the whole time. Like … like the most important piece of her was never quite in step with the rest of us. Was she like that with you?'

Mally thought back to the years when Alice used to visit; how she'd arrive at the Clearing with her eyes shining and her lips curled into a smile. She remembered how she'd laugh at Thackery's antics, how she'd learnt so fast to duck anything he threw her way; how she and the Hatter would swap tales, Alice leaning on the tabletop, tilted towards him with that special just-for-the-Hatter smile on her face, utterly involved in every word he said; how much Mally's heart sighed in relief whenever she noticed that the man himself didn't realise that every look Alice turned upon him was so special, so just-for-him, and how much her heart stung when she noticed that he only didn't realise because he was just as immersed in Alice as Alice was in him. She remembered the time Alice had waited with her a whole night, sitting up without yawning to wait for the Hatter to return from a trip to Marmoreal; how the two of them had talked until the morning sun began to touch the tips of the trees and the Hatter had returned, pleasantly surprised to find them laughing about some long ago adventure. How for that one night Alice had returned to being that little girl with wide eyes and a little blue dress, who couldn't say 'Underland' properly, no matter how much Mally had tried to teach her.

'No,' she said, almost smiling, 'she wasn't.'

When she pulled herself out of old, half-repressed memories of sunny afternoons, Mally saw that Edith was looking at her, and had been for some time. It was a look that shot straight through her like an arrow, some unidentifiable emotion filling the dark eyes.

'You're lucky,' said the girl, turning away. Mally could see her blinking, before turning back to her with a very familiar expression of curiosity. 'Mally?'

'Hmm?'

'Why were you so surprised, before? When I said that Alice told me about you?'

Mally looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her hatpin sword.

'You said she told you I was her friend?'

'Yes,' said Edith, with another one of those uncomfortable scanning looks of hers, 'weren't you?'

Mally fidgeted with her hatpin sword more than ever, the metal smooth and shining, comforting and familiar under her fingers.

'When she was a little girl … a little girl not much younger than you …' Mally shot a glance at Edith, 'but when she got older … I – I don't know.' She looked away almost impatiently. 'I thought she didn't like me.'

She heard Edith snort, and turned to see her wearing a faintly amused look now.

'That's funny. She always thought you didn't like her. How pointless.'

Mally felt a tinge of surprise at this news. That Alice – perfect, flawless Alice – could ever doubt her own likeableness.

'Why should she worry about anyone not liking her?' said Mally, not looking up from her hatpin, frowning at how harsh her own voice sounded. 'Everyone she ever met loved her to bits. It didn't matter if you always stuck around, if you were always there even if she never was – especially when she never was; the moment she walked into the room she lit up everyone's face. Everyone here would go to the ends of the earth for that woman.'

'And the Hatter is.'

Mally gripped her sword tighter, holding it close to herself, watching as she tilted it to catch and reflect the light.

'He gave me this, you know.' She didn't know how it slipped out, but it did. 'Long, long time ago now. Long time before little Alice showed up. He was friends with my brother first, you see. I'd wanted a real sword for so long, only you can't – you can't get them in my size. Tarrant Hightopp was visiting the house, swapping teas with my brother, when he saw me and my sister play-fighting out front. He said I showed promise; could be an expert one day. He gave me one of his own hatpins – he picked me out of all my sisters and my brother. No one had ever picked me for something before; no one can ever hear you in a family that big. But he picked me. I never felt so special in all my life.'

Edith was silent, and Mallymkun could feel those ever-watching eyes on her, taking everything they saw in. Mally gripped her sword, half-despising herself for letting that little story, so precious, so treasured, so hers to share with nobody else, slip out. And still she kept going, the words flowing out of her uncontrollably.

'Tarrant never could get rid of me after that. Stuck with his friend's kid sister. Didn't seem to mind so much though.' She smiled softly to herself, down at the sword in her lap. 'We were so close. Him, and me, and Thackery; that was the way things went. That was the way they were meant to be. And then the war came, and Thackery went mad, and Tarrant half followed him – up and down without control, and me the only one in the world who could calm him. And then Alice came. And then Alice left. And whenever she wasn't here … Tarrant … it was like – like … the most important piece of him was out of step with the rest of us.'

She couldn't look at Edith.

'I didn't feel so special after that.'

Edith remained absolutely silent, and Mally thanked the heavens. She dreaded stifling comfort, she dreaded feeling the girl's hand on her shoulder to lend some well-meaning but humiliating support.

Mally continued; 'You know, I sort of want to find her. If that would make him better. Better like he used to be before he ever met her.'

And then, at last, came words from the girl beside her.

'You blame her for it.'

Mally looked up and found herself shot through with another awkwardly penetrating gaze. Yet there was no anger there in the dark eyes, no sorrow; only that familiar curiosity, as if the girl had spent her whole life locked away in a cellar and was only just now learning how people behaved.

Just when Mally thought she couldn't bear the aching familiarity of that curious gaze any longer, Edith's eyes flitted away for a second, and when they flitted back they were full instead with a resigned sadness.

'He really does miss her awfully, doesn't he?' she said.

'Yes,' sighed Mally, rubbing her hands against her eyes. 'Awfully.'

* * *

That night Mally couldn't sleep. She pattered down the corridor to Edith's room and knocked on the door.

'Come in.'

The little girl was sitting at the window, which was opened wide. A white blanket was drawn around her tightly against the fresh chill; her silhouette seeming so much larger than Mally was used to.

'Hello, Mally,' she said as the Dormouse clambered up beside her.

They sat in silence for a moment as Mally struggled to find the words that would put her mind at ease.

'Edith …' she began, 'about what I told you today …'

'I'm not going to tell anyone.' She spared her a glance to smile at her, then turned back to the open window.

'You're unusually serene tonight,' said Mally, amused by the uncharacteristically dreamy look on her face.

She didn't answer, gazing out at the stars. They were so high up in the towers of the White Castle that it seemed they were sitting amongst fields of stars rather than looking up at them, and Mally felt her stomach flip with a sudden thrill as she realised this. The crescent moon smiled down at them like a wide, curving grin, disembodied in the sky.

'It's funny,' said Edith after a while, 'this place. It reminds me of what it was like to be a child.'

You are a child, Edith,' Mally pointed out.

'I'm thirteen!' she said, much affronted.

'Oh, of course,' said Mally with a roll of the eyes, 'terribly grown up.'

Edith pulled a ghastly face and made as if to push her off the window sill.

'Oh, just try it,' dared Mally, prompting a snort of laughter from the girl. 'The queen said your leg should be better tomorrow.'

Edith rubbed at it, as if she'd just remembered the wound. The bandage had been removed earlier that evening, and the skin underneath had been oddly pink and shiny.

'Your crashing idea of lunging probably didn't help it much,' said Mally.

'But I'll be able to travel again?'

Mally looked at her. There was something desperate in her countenance, the look of someone longing to _do_ something.

'I suppose.'

'Then we can leave tomorrow?'

'Yes.'

Edith leant back against the window frame and said no more, satisfied.

They fell back into the comfortable silence that comes between friends, watching the stars around them twinkle and shine long into the night.

* * *

Far miles away, deep in the heart of Tulgey Wood, the Hatter was getting rather distressed. He had fallen onto his knees at some point, and he wasn't sure when. All he knew was that he could feel the dirt under his hands, damp and tactile. His position was the least of his problems.

He could feel himself going up and down inside, like a crazed thermometer, filled to the brim with mercury that had nowhere to go but up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down –

He could see his clothes morphing through colour after colour before him – the lace and sleeves poking out of his jacket sleeves were reeling through a spectrum of violent reds, electric blues, shocking purples, poisonous greens –

He had to find that dratted snake. He had been so foolish, so unbelievably dim-witted; never trust a Tree Serpent –

He could feel his skin prickling. His hands were shaking, clawing into the dirt –

Up and down, up and down; he didn't know what he was feeling –

Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream –

Concentrate –

'_Hatter! Calm down!'_

'_Calm down, Hatter! Hatter!'_

'_Hatter! Hatter!'_

'_Tarrant Hightopp, will you PLEASE, CALM DOWN!'_

'_Calm down, Hatter!'_

'_**Hatter**__!'_

_Two hands on either side of his face. Cool and smooth and steady and so unafraid._

'_Do you have any idea why a raven is like a writing desk? I'm frightened, Alice. I don't like it in here, it's terribly crowded.'_

_But she was there and for the space of the heartbeats that she was holding his face so soothingly his mind cleared completely and he could see. He could see her looking straight at him, all brown eyes and golden hair and perfect lips, lips that were moving, talking to him._

He had to find her. He couldn't let the Stone be lost. He couldn't let her be lost. Lost, lost like so many others.

At that thought his mind cleared, and his heart lurched with a sudden pain. Oh, please don't let her be lost. Not now, not when he'd been balancing on the brink of her being lost to him completely for so many years, not now when he'd finally rediscovered some hope. He'd already lost so much where she was concerned; so many opportunities, so many days, so many years, so much time. Seven years he'd wasted not looking for her, he should have searched long ago; should have gotten the courage to venture Above whether she wanted him or not and seek answers. And he should never have taken her on that boating trip.

He fell asleep in the early hours of the next morning, sprawled in the dirt from the now sadly familiar exhaustion, his hands tucked into his sleeves to stop them from shaking.

* * *

Mally and Edith left the next morning on a, (white), horse. Queen Mirana had waved them off with two packs stuffed with food and camping materials, slung on either side of the horse.

'I packed for you last night,' she had said to Mally aside with a knowing smile. 'I thought the girl would be eager to find her aunt. You know, Mallymkun,' she added, strapping the camping pack on more firmly – it seemed to be quite heavy, 'you don't have to go.'

'Got to keep an eye on the kid,' said Mally gruffly, 'Alice would have wanted me to.'

'You never did things because Alice wanted you to.'

'Sometimes I did,' said Mally, with the slightest touch of defiance.

The Queen smiled a little sadly, then, transferring the Dormouse from her shoulder to the saddle, she said more seriously, 'Mally. When you find him … If you can't find her …'

'I'll look after him,' said Mally stoutly, 'I always have, haven't I?'

Edith had arrived then. She seemed to have not so discreetly ripped the sleeves off her dress. The Queen cast a slightly horrified eye over this, but let it pass.

'Fairfarren, Mally,' she whispered before turning away, 'and good luck. You may be needing it.'

Now Mally was riding on Edith's shoulder, clinging in place as the horse trotted through the hilly, green countryside, travelling by the pebbly roads. They would cross paths with the occasional fellow horseman, and once a horse-drawn cart loaded with chattering children with downy light blonde hair and wide smiles; their parents at the reigns.

They passed through three towns, full of houses built from straw and sticks and brick, townspeople gossiping and talking on the streets. Mally watched Edith drink all the mundane sights in like honey, almost laughed at it. For a few hours she could forget worrying about the Hatter, and whether they would find him and Alice, as Edith pointed and exclaimed at the gramophones she saw in the shop windows, and the outrageously colourful clothes the people wore.

'Look at that woman's hat!' Edith cried, pointing shamelessly at a lady crossing the street, her proud head bearing a hat with a finely crafted ship in a bottle nestled amongst a ruffle of blue sea waves and frilly sea spray. Mally didn't have the heart to tell her not to shout so, even as the lady sent them an affronted look.

'It's one of the Hatter's,' said Mally proudly.

'It's amazing!' She was looking back, straining for another look. Then another costume caught her eye. 'Look at that skirt! It looks like someone splashed a rainbow all over it.'

'The fashion here's tending towards the like of Witzend. They're very colourful in the West.'

'So much colour. It's wonderful.' Edith turned back to face the road, chuckling slightly. 'I don't think I could live amongst all that colour every day though.'

* * *

By nightfall they had reached Tulgey Wood. The horse had tired surprisingly quickly, and it took some persuading and a good deal of water to convince it to continue further into the woods.

'Just a bit further,' said Mally coaxingly, 'just a bit further.'

Finally the horse stopped in a small clearing near the darker parts of Tulgey Wood and refused to move an inch further.

'Edith, carrots, in the pack,' urged Mally as the girl slid off, stumbling onto the forest floor. 'Quickly.'

'Which one?'

'Left.'

Edith moved around the horse to the pack on the other side and struggled with the strap on the lid of the pack.

'How do you …?'

'Twist the … oh, here, let me.' Mally scampered down Edith's arm and leapt onto the pack to untwist the metal knob holding the strap in place. No sooner had she done so than a horribly familiar blonde head popped out like a jack in the box, gasping for air; slender arms stretching out. Mally was thrown right off the pack and into the air.

'Mally!' Edith cried, lunging forward to catch her and slipping on her long skirts.

Mally found herself landing heavily in Edith's outstretched palms, on her back and dazed. The world lurched alarmingly and the trees blurred as Edith scrambled to her feet. Mally could feel her near trembling with anger.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?' she thundered at the stowaway.

Mally couldn't make out the meek reply from Isolda. All she could discern was that the reason for the woman's sudden appearance had something to do with fairy godmothers.

'We are not your fairy godmothers!'

Another soft mumble of words from Isolda.

'I don't care one bit about your "Destiny"!' snapped Edith. 'You do believe in the silliest things.'

Mally sat up, rubbing her head dizzily. Isolda was staring at her and Edith with a wide-eyed expression of mixed horror and guilt.

'What do you think you're doing here?' said Mally abruptly.

'I had to follow you,' said Isolda, tilting her chin more confidently, 'you're to lead me on to where my Path shall further lead me.'

'What?' spluttered Edith. 'What – _what does that even mean?_'

'Isolda,' began Mally testily, 'we are not your fairy godmothers. We are not your godmothers, we're not even your friends! I am a Dormouse, and Edith is an undersized thirteen year old, and we ain't _fairies!_ And if you ever call us that or anything like it ever again I will personally rip your prissy little mouth out! Understand?'

Isolda had nearly vanished back inside the pack, and now all that was visible of her were two blue eyes and two graceful hands. The blonde head nodded.

'Good. Now get out of there.'

Isolda hastened to obey, sliding out of the pack without a scuffle.

Edith strode over to the pack and peered inside.

'You emptied it out just so you could stow away!'

'I had to, Edie, please understand,' begged Isolda, her hands clasped.

'Don't call me "Edie",' said the girl stiffly, moving away from her. 'How can you have thought you'd be welcome? Isn't it blindingly obvious enough for you that we don't like you?'

'Every young hero or heroine must undertake the Three Tests,' said Isolda, 'it's a sub-category of the Rule of Three.'

'That's blethers,' said Mally, 'all that fairytale stuff. Rule of Three, and "the eldest sibling makes no fortune", and all of it.'

'Not to mention knights in shining armour,' muttered Edith.

'I will find my Prince,' said Isolda steadfastly. 'I know he's out there somewhere.'

'Yes, I suppose he's galloping across deadly terrains and battling a dragon for you right now,' Edith retorted.

At that moment they heard a shuffling noise from the direction of the horse. They turned to look, just in time to see another familiar head of white emerge from the remaining pack, supposedly filled with camping gear.

'Pig?'

'Pig?'

'Pig?'

'AH!' He turned, standing and visible above the waist. When he saw them he toppled straight out of the pack and crashed to the ground, trailing rope which had entangled itself around his right ankle. In half a moment he shot up again like cork, shaking the rope off his foot.

'Isolda,' he exclaimed, 'sweet cream puff! I have come to pledge my love to you!' He tried to extend an arm out with a flourish but only managed to bruise his elbow against the edge of the pack. 'Ow.'

Isolda sighed prettily.

'Again?' she said wearily. 'I told you, Pig, you're just a kitchen boy. And you've already gone white in the hair and you can't be more than twenty.'

'I'm twenty three,' said Pig quickly.

'I'm afraid we just don't have anything in common.'

'Oi, hold on,' said Mally, taken aback, '_you stowed away too?_'

'I shall never leave my love's side!' he swore, looking at Isolda.

'I am not _your_ love,' she said, folding her arms and turning her perfect nose up at him.

Pig grappled for words, seeming at a slight lost as to what to do, then suddenly dove back into the pack, rummaging into it, his head disappearing.

'Fmmphmph!' he said, his voice muffled.

'What?' sighed Isolda impatiently.

'Flowers,' said Pig as he emerged. He thrust a bunch of half-wilted springroses at her. She didn't take them, instead eyeing them from a safe distance as though they might be diseased.

'I sat on them about five miles back,' he said apologetically.

'Look, this is all very touching,' snapped Edith with crossed arms, 'but now you've had your reunion will you take it elsewhere? You've already wasted enough of our time.'

'I'm not leaving you,' insisted Isolda.

'I'm not leaving Isolda,' insisted Pig.

'Well, we're leaving you!'

'Edith, don't be so childish,' said Mally, rubbing at her forehead. She could feel a headache coming on.

'They started it!'

'I am _not_ going to referee an argument between the three of you!'

'Well, good, because we don't need a referee!' Edith turned to the other two before Mally could open her mouth. 'Mally and I are going to find Alice.'

'I thought we were finding the Hatter!' frowned Mally.

'Oh, your precious Hatter!'

Mally flinched, stung. She jumped off Edith's hand, landing on the forest floor with a glare.

'What about your precious bloody Alice?' she shouted.

'Listen,' started Pig, trying to step between them.

'Stay out of it!' both yelled. Pig stumbled back hastily, knocking into the horse, which – exhausted and short-tempered – started, and kicked out with its hind legs, whinnying in panic.

'Oof!' gasped Pig as he narrowly avoided being kicked in the stomach, staggering out of the way, tripping up on his own feet and falling onto all fours.

Mally started ahead, meaning to calm the horse, which was still rearing and pawing the ground in something akin to frightened indignation, then she realised that she was far too small to be of any use. She cursed, gripping her hatpin sword instinctively, as Isolda stood rooted to the spot in useless astonishment, and Edith began dancing around the horse, trying to grab its reins.

'Woah, boy! Calm down – ah!' The horse reared up and Edith fell back, tripping on Pig, who was climbing to his feet, and bringing them both down like a pair of dominoes. While they scrambled around on the forest floor in a panic the horse neighed, affronted, and charged away into the woods.

'Wait!' shouted Mally in desperation, scurrying along the ground. 'Come back!' She knew it was no use. The horse was only a mute animal; it had no ability to understand or comprehend a word she was saying.

Mally soon lost sight of it amongst the thick trees and came to a halt, panting. For a moment she turned from side to side, lost, then her sharp ears pricked and picked up the sounds of an argument. With a sigh she scurried back in its direction.

'We were just getting started and already you've both ruined it!'

'I couldn't part with her!'

'I can't part from my spirit guides!'

'Oh, so we're your spirit guides now?' said Mally as she reached the glade, hands on hips and severely unimpressed.

Edith was in the midst of a screaming match with Pig and Isolda. All three were flushed from shouting; Edith was scowling, Pig was looking stubbornly lovesick, and Isolda had the rather sickening expression of one who was most woefully wronged.

'I can't Diverge from my Path –' she began.

'Don't talk to me about not Diverging from Paths,' snorted Mally, 'I know people who make their own.'

'Please, don't make me leave,' begged Isolda, 'please.'

The more her bottom lip trembled the more Mally wanted to tell her exactly where she could stick her Path, her Destiny, and her Prince Charming.

She could see Edith trying to catch her eye, shaking her head.

'You're leaving in the morning,' said Mally as firmly as she could muster. 'Both of you. We'll camp here tonight.'

With that she sat herself down just as firmly, resolving not to move no matter how much she got screamed at. The three humans burst into uproar.

'Camp?' repeated Edith, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'But there's still at least two good hours of travel left!'

'I can't leave you!' cried Isolda, promptly bursting into tears.

'Now look what you've done to her!' exclaimed Pig, dropping the flowers and starting forward to comfort her. She shoved him away.

'Just send them home now! Please, Mally?' Edith crumpled down beside her.

Mally noted the use of "please", amused by her friend's apparent total despair.

'You need to learn how to put up with people you don't like, _Edie_,' she said.

'Don't call me that,' she moaned, covering her ears and cringing comically. 'Nobody's called me that since I was a child.'

'Well, I think it's still fitting then.'

'I gave you flowers!' Pig was saying, trying to get close enough to Isolda to hug her comfortingly.

'I don't want flowers! And I'm allergic to springroses!'

Pig was instantly horrified.

'Yes,' pouted Isolda, 'now do you see what you could have done to me?' She turned away with a flurry of pink skirt and immaculately groomed curls.

'I'm s-sorry, I – I didn't know –'

'Well, now you do.'

'Let me make it up to you. Please. I can prove my love!'

'How am I supposed to put up with a full night of that?' said Edith despairingly.

'You'll survive,' was Mally's dry response.

* * *

No amount of begging, tears, screaming, or shouting could budge Mally's decision. The four of them started to set up camp; or rather, Mally and Edith started to set up camp whilst Pig darted around the area fetching soft things that Isolda might be able to lie down on without dirtying her dress.

'All I wanted was a soft bed,' said the woman, sitting atop a carefully made bed of moss two hours later. 'Surely we could have found an inn nearby.'

'Inns are out of the woods, Isolda, for the tenth time,' growled Mally from across the dimming fire. 'And we have no money.'

'We could have begged a place.'

'The people here can't afford to give things away. Even after all this time, we're still rebuilding after the Bloody Reign.'

Edith was curled into a tree root a small distance away. She seemed to have her hands over her ears and her eyes screwed shut.

'Pig found some mushrooms, Edith,' called Mally. 'Come eat something.'

The girl shook her head.

'They're not exactly Marmorean pastries,' said Pig, with an apologetic glance at Isolda, 'but they're not bad.'

Isolda heaved a very heavy sigh and refused to look at them.

'I don't eat mushrooms,' she said.

Pig's face fell.

Mally made her way over to the balled-up Edith, waving a toasted mushroom on a stick under her nose.

'Edith, it's good,' she sang coaxingly. 'You haven't eaten all day.'

'M'not hungry.'

'Rubbish.'

She poked at Edith's mouth with the mushroom. The girl spluttered, opening her eyes and pushing it away.

'Mally!'

'You're just sulking, that's all.'

'Maybe I am,' she said, sticking her chin out, 'I have a right to sulk if I want.'

'C'mon,' said Mally more seriously, 'they're not that bad. Well, she is. But –'

'That _girl_,' spat Edith, as though "girl" was a derogative adjective of deepest loathing, 'is driving me insane.'

'Don't worry, we're all mad here.'

Edith threw her a half-hearted glare, the corners of her mouth twitching.

'I'm serious.'

'I'm serious too.'

'And if he uses the words "azure", "honey", "alabaster", and "strands of pure gold spun by the angels" to describe that girl's appearance again …'

'I'll let you punch him, alright?'

Edith huffed, then smiled wryly at Mally.

'I'll be back in a minute,' she said, getting to her feet suddenly.

'Where are you going?' frowned Mally.

'I'll get some more firewood,' she said dismissively, slouching away into the darkness.

'No, Edith, wait –'

'I'll be fine, Mally.'

'Don't go off the path!' she shouted to her disappearing back. 'Edith!'

'Mallymkun?'

'Hmm?' Mally turned to see Pig eyeing the mushroom she was holding hungrily.

'Are you eating that?'

* * *

Time passed. Isolda fell asleep, golden hair spread in a cascade around her. Pig settled a respectful distance away and watched her contentedly.

'Pig,' hissed Mally.

'S-sorry?' he said, twisting around.

'Don't do that. It's creepy.'

'Oh. O-okay.' He dutifully turned over onto his other side and seemed to drift off into an almost instant sleep.

'I wish Edith was that obedient,' Mally whispered to herself. She sat up, looking into the darkness around the glade. It was horribly reminiscent of her last night in Tulgey Wood. With the memory of the Evisceraker her stomach flipped sickeningly and she stood. Edith should have been back a long time ago.

Casting one last glance over her shoulder at the sleeping pair by the fire, she started off onto the dark path, trying to follow the girl's scent. Predictably it led off the path soon enough, following instead some higgledy-piggledy rows of squimberry bushes.

'Edith!' called Mally. 'Edith, where are you, you great useless lump?'

The trail led on and on, deeper into the forest. The trees grew closer together, some entwining themselves around one another, and Mally remembered with unease the tales her brother used to tell of the curses laid upon 'lover trees'.

Further on Mally almost tripped on several sticks and pieces of bark that had been gathered on the ground. She frowned at them, puzzled. Why had the girl left them there? Then with a sudden chill Mally realized that they hadn't been carefully laid down. They had been dropped.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the darkness to her left, a girl's scream split the night air.

Mally charged towards it without a second thought.

* * *

A/N:

But Michael will still nag me,

Oh, and by the way,

This story is still not mine.


	12. The Hatter Meets a Squirrel

**Disclaimer**:

Draco's there at close of day,

Nagging half my life away,

And by the by and by the way,

Harry borrows toys to play,

But cannot say she owns them, nay.

* * *

**_C__HAPTER ELEVEN – THE HATTER MEETS A SQUIRREL_**

After three days more of searching for the thieving Tree Serpent the Hatter realized he hadn't eaten for quite some time. He hadn't slept either, not properly lie-down-and-close-your-eyes type of sleep.

'That's not good,' he muttered to himself as he trudged along, stumbling half-blindly without looking where he was going; eyes only for the flash of scaly tail. 'That's not good at all. I need to find the snake – the Serpent – I need to find him, and how can I do that when I am collapsing where I stand – walk. Trot, totter, _stumble, fumble, pace, advance, stalk, skip – no, no skipping.'_

He frowned to himself and almost tripped over an overgrown tree root.

'I really must find some scones,' he told himself sternly. 'Although I rather get the feeling I'm running out of Time. I could always ask him for more, I suppose, but then we've always been out of sorts with one another. And it wasn't my fault, I told him – "I really didn't mean to" I said, "I didn't mean to murder the Time" – but Thackery did insist on beating Time so vigorously to keep pace, and one can't help but sing fast when the beater insists on beating allegro. Too fast, too fast. I think I skipped some parts entirely – _no, no skipping.'_

A breath to clear the clutter in his brain.

'No. Find the snake – the Serpent. Find the Stone. Find Alice. _Find, find, find, find, find, find –'_

He stopped as he heard a noise somewhere up ahead. He was well off any path here, and quite lost in the semi-darkness. The trees grew so closer together that Tarrant had lost track of whether it was day or night or in between.

As he drew closer the noises merged into the sounds of a heated argument.

'I told you – I NEED IT!'

'Nathty little liar!'

'I didn't lie! I changed my mind!'

Tarrant approached the speakers carefully, peeking out from behind a tree. In the half-darkness he made out the furry shape of some small woodland creature, who he at first mistook for Mallymkun. Then a bushy tail waved into view and he saw it was in fact a Squirrel, currently shouting in a high-pitched voice to none other than Batibat the Tree Serpent.

'You thaid you'd return it to me!'

'It's not yours and I know it isn't,' declared the Squirrel, 'if anyone's a liar it's you.'

It was only then that the Hatter noticed what the Squirrel was clasping so tightly to its chest. It was now wrapped in a different white fabric, but the shape and the faint voices it was emitting were unmistakable.

The Serpent reared up above the suddenly tiny Squirrel, hissing and baring immaculate white fangs. She stood her ground.

'It's – not – yours,' she repeated dangerously.

'No,' said the Hatter, stepping out from the behind the tree and feeling more in control than he had in days. 'I do believe it's mine.'

Both heads snapped towards him and he was met with identical pairs of wide eyes. Tarrant watched recognition dawn on the Serpent's thin face, closely followed by an audible gulp.

'_Did ye mam not teach ye it's rude to touch what disnae belong to ye, Serpent?'_ he growled, advancing on the Serpent, who backed down and inched away from him. _'I suggest you find some other shiny object to pilfer.'_

The Serpent shrank.

'Tho thorry,' he lisped in a voice as slick as oil. His tongue darted out once before he turned and slithered away, disappearing swiftly into the dark spaces between the trees.

The Hatter turned to the Squirrel, who was watching him with something akin to begrudging awe.

'You'll be wanting this, I suppose,' she said, offering up the Stone before he could even open his mouth to ask for it.

'I … yes, thank you,' he said, rather surprised, taking the Stone.

The Squirrel watched as he unwound the white cloth. The voices filtered out to him quickly, all enraged and shrieking.

'THE INDIGNITIES OF IT!'

'I WILL NOT BE BUNDLED ABOUT LIKE SOME COMMON GARDEN PEBBLE!'

'Please! Gentlemen, ladies, please,' said the Hatter, distressed by the burst in volume. 'Soften your tone!'

'Soften my tone? SOFTEN MY TONE? As if I haven't got a right to shout whenever I feel the need to make my opinion heard!'

'I wanted to ask,' said the Hatter gently, treading on eggshells, 'where to go to find Alice.'

'ALICE! By the gods, man, is she all you ever think about?' This voice descended into a ranting babble of angry language, drowned by its companions.

'Please –'

'OH, FINE! Go left,' grunted the old man, 'And be damned.'

The Hatter hastily bundled up the violently protesting Stone once more and stuffed it into his pocket. He was about to turn left when he saw the Squirrel was still standing there, frowning at him expectantly. He hesitated mid-step.

'Er … I'm afraid I have nothing to give you as payment –'

'I don't want payment,' snorted the Squirrel, scurrying to his side, 'I'm coming with you. And you're not fobbing me off this time. Or running away the second you get a chance to.'

'I … what?'

'It's me,' said the Squirrel, rolling her eyes.

'I beg your pardon?'

'It's _me_,' she repeated, gesturing towards herself.

He looked at her in confusion.

'Is it indeed?' he said.

'_Me_,' she said again. Seeing his blank look, she sighed, '_You know_,' she hinted, and mimed a silent hissy fit, stamping her foot and pulling a face.

'Oh!' he said, nodding, 'yes, yes; when you say 'me' you mean 'you' and you are … er –'

Her patience snapped in two.

'Edith!' she cried in frustration.

'Oh!' he said. Then he frowned, staring at her. Something niggled at him. There was small silence as he puzzled over it. 'You know, it's funny … but I could have sworn you weren't a Squirrel the last time I saw you. In fact you looked nearly, well, you were _distinctly_ little-girl-shaped.'

Edith the Squirrel winced.

'Yes,' she said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. 'I had a bad run-in with … well. A few nasty things. And a Serpent. And a feral cat. It's a nuisance being a small Animal, I don't know how Mally puts up with it. Everything wants to eat you.'

* * *

It took some time to extract the entire story, in its complete and sense-making entirety, from Edith.

'Perhaps,' began the Hatter as they sat down that night, facing each other over the fire with mirrored frowns, 'it might be an idea to start with exactly how you were transformed into a Squirrel.'

Edith's frown deepened slightly, and she grimaced again.

'Well, she thought it would stop me from getting away, you see,' she said, 'most people don't like being turned into a Squirrel.'

The Hatter stared at her for a moment, then blinked in slight confusion.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'She thought that I wouldn't leave until she turned me back into a girl,' said Edith.

The Hatter bit his lip.

'Perhaps,' he began once more, 'it would be a better idea to explain exactly who "she" is first.'

'But you said to start with how I got turned into a Squirrel –'

'Yes, I know.'

There was a more than slightly resentful pause from Edith.

'You're confusing,' she said irritably.

'_I'm_ confusing?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you – you …' he flapped an arm at her in indignation, 'you're more confusing.'

'You are so much more confusing than me.'

'Excuse me! I'll think you'll find that you're more confusing than I!'

'I was only doing what you asked me to!'

'Yes!' he snapped, feeling rather stupidly childish all the while. 'And in a roundabout … just – just purposefully confusing way!'

'Purposefully confusing? Are you saying I was going out of my way to confuse you?'

'Confuse, befuddle, irritate, annoy, bewilder, baffle, _STUPEFY! No, no skipping_ –' he clapped a hand over his mouth before he could regress any further into ranting, although the word "_find_" squeezed its way past his lips before he regained complete control.

The little Squirrel looked at him like he had just grown another head and sung a harmonized duet with it.

'Mollygaggers,' she muttered, seemingly to herself.

'I believe you'll find the correct term is "gallymoggers",' he said, lowering his hand slightly. 'If you're going to insult me in Outlandish I'd rather you do it properly.'

'I'm not an expert,' she said defensively, showing off her brutish scowl once more, 'I only know the basics. And swearwords.'

'Of course,' said the Hatter, dropping his hand with an annoyed, tense half smile, 'a beautiful, ancient language, untested yet upon one's tongue, and the first thing to learn is how to graphically curse in the most vulgar way possible.'

'From what I heard,' she retorted immediately, 'you aren't exactly squeaky clean when it comes to cursing.'

The half smile on his face felt tense enough to snap in two now.

'_Just tell me your story,'_ he said, his voice low and a little too dangerous for his own liking. This child wore his patience thin.

She just glared at him for a moment, then seemed to decide that she had pushed her luck far enough, and began.

She and Mallymkun had left Marmoreal after a day to come and find him, Edith explained. However, they hadn't gotten far before they discovered that Pigmeckun Duke and a woman named Isolda had stowed away in the large side packs.

'And who is Isolda?'

Edith gestured wildly and cursed vehemently in Outlandish, insulting the woman's ancestry, ability to basket weave, and ability to do something rather more vulgar, though Tarrant guessed, (correctly), that that particular phrase had probably been picked up from Mallymkun and the girl probably didn't fully understand its implications.

'And Pig's sworn never to leave her side for longer than it takes for her to go to the toilet, and she's sworn never to leave our side until she's happily married to her imaginary Prince, so Mally and I were stuck with them both – and they wouldn't _stop talking!_' Edith moaned, rubbing her hands over her furry ears as if they were still bruised from the experience.

She had wandered away from the camp that night in the hope of getting some respite from the pair, and had stumbled into a trap. The next morning she had woken to find herself trussed up in a cramped wood cabin cluttered with silver daggers, cauldrons, poison'd entrails and the like, with a disfigured old woman looming over her head and poking her with a ladle. The woman, apparently, was a witch, and Edith, apparently, was soon to be an ingredient in her "hell-broth".

The witch had asked her quite politely if she was a blaspheming Jew by any chance, and Edith had replied not quite so politely that she most certainly was _not_. The witch had then proceeded to pace about the cabin ranting about how hard blaspheming Jews were to come by these days, as were newts, blind worms, adders, and birth-strangled babes.

'And don't even get me started on how I had to travel all the way to the Crim Coast just to gut that shark! And the last dragon was slain years ago so how I'm going to get hold of a scale I don't know …'

The witch had continued with this for some time until she noticed that Edith was struggling to untie her ropes, and threw a hex at her hard enough to slam the girl against the wall of the cabin.

'Oh, I'm sorry, dearie, but I can't have that. I'll be needing to turn you into a newt or an owlet when I find where I put the right spells. A frog even. You know, everyone thinks frogs are easy, but they're really rather fiddly,' she added conversationally as she wove a Squirrel spell around the dazed Edith, 'it's a matter of getting the whole amphibian thing right, in my opinion. The organs have to be in exactly the right place. Now, Squirrels on the other hand, well, not to blow my own trumpet or anything, but I like to call them my specialty. Simple spell, quick and easy; and it keeps people in place. I'm the only one who owns the counter-curse, you see,' she said pointedly, tying off the mid-air spell and tightening it sharply.

The witch had then dropped the newly Squirrel-fied Edith into the last spare cage, (one filled with bits of junk she had evidently picked up out of mild interest), locked it, and swept out to search for more ingredients; safe in the belief that even if Edith managed to escape her cage, she wouldn't leave without the counter-curse.

The moment she had left, the cabin had burst into a cacophony of voices from all sides, most of them abusing the witch.

'Stupid woman.'

'So how'd you get caught?'

'She thinks she's so clever!'

'She's as blind as a bat! No offence, Arthur.'

'None taken.'

'Did she get you in one of her traps or did she make her house look like gingerbread again?'

'Everyone, please!'

The cabin was filled with forest critters, ranging from bats to dogs to a bad-tempered goat. They had accumulated over the past year as the witch set about gathering ingredients, and they were scheduled to be slaughtered when the ingredient list was complete. Understandably, they weren't very happy with their present situation, and were planning to escape, regardless of the witch's tactic of hiding all the counter spells on her person at all times, because as Arthur the Bat said, it was "better to be a live Bat than a dead human".

So far the Animals hadn't managed to construct a successful Escape Plan, as their Escape Plan Meetings always escalated into full-out arguments over what exactly their Escape Plan ought to be. It had previously taken them a month to decide that they should start with unlocking their cages, and even then there were still some disgruntled mutterings that they should start with somehow knocking the witch out first.

Later that day the witch had returned, hauling a large, squirming sack through the door with her. She dumped it by the hearth, exhausted, before collapsing into an armchair and wiping her brow with a filthy cloth which left streaks of dirt across her forehead. She shot a fire spell at the hearth, and was fast asleep within a matter of minutes. The sack too, stopped squirming, the trapped creature inside evidently giving up its struggle.

'It was about then there was a ripping noise and a pair of fangs tore through the sack,' Edith continued.

'Batibat.'

'Is that his name?' said Edith, raising her eyes momentarily from the fire.

'I had the pleasure of meeting him beforehand,' said the Hatter bitterly. 'Go on. What did he do when he got out of the sack?'

'Well, he slithered about on the floor for a bit gloating because he was the only one who wasn't caged. Then he started slithering about on the witch looking for something while everyone was at him begging to be let out of their cages.'

'You too?'

'I was trying to _bargain_ with him,' said Edith haughtily, as if the very idea of her _begging_ for something was ludicrous, 'I asked him what he was looking for.'

'The Stone?' guessed the Hatter.

She nodded, '"A shiny stone wrapped in white cloth" he said, so when he turned his back I picked up a stone from the junk in my cage and ripped off the hem of my dress to wrap it in. Then I waved it in his face and said I'd give it to him if he got me out of the cabin safely.'

Tarrant couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

'And then when you both got out of the cabin and into the woods the stone you chose magically turned into the real Stone?'

Edith shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with her tail.

'Well … yes.'

The Hatter's eyebrows shot higher.

'At least, I think that's what happened.' Edith leaned forward, her whiskers twitching, 'I think that when the witch stole the real Stone off Batibat when she caught him, she enchanted it to make it look like just any old ordinary stone. She wasn't a very good witch, but she must have had at least half an idea of what it was.' She sat back, seemingly pleased with her own deduction. 'Then when we crossed the threshold of her home it turned back into its true form.'

'And you didn't?' said the Hatter skeptically. 'And how did she get the Stone into your cage without you noticing?'

Edith's face fell.

'It's the only way I can explain it, alright?' she said hotly.

'How do you explain the rather amazing coincidences that Batibat just happened to be captured by the witch at the same time as you, and, (assuming that she somehow dropped it in without you noticing), that said witch put the Stone in the same cage as you, and that it only took a day and three quarters to find me in this impressively vast forest?' he said pointedly, folding his arms.

'Will you just –' Edith went to fold her arms, then realized she was copying his stance, and jerked them back down into her lap, huffing out a frustrated sigh, not meeting his glare for once. 'I don't know,' she shrugged with the defeated air of someone who was getting very tired of all this; rubbing her palm against her forehead, brow furrowed. 'I just don't know.' She sighed once more, and then fell into a bitter silence, staring into the fire; her shoulders slack.

The Hatter started to feel a little silly with his arms crossed, and shifted to lean back on his hands instead, though he continued to shoot Edith a glare every now and then.

For a long moment neither spoke, until the girl said something that caught his attention.

'I hope Mally's alright.'

Edith was hugging herself with her scrawny, furry arms; frowning at the dirt at her feet, genuine concern showing on her face. She caught him staring at her in puzzlement, and pulled a face.

'What?'

'You're worried about her,' said the Hatter, tilting his head.

'Of course I am,' the girl snorted, 'she's my friend.' A mixture of pride and defiance ran beneath the words.

'She is? Well, that's … different,' was all he could reply.

'I know,' she said, hugging herself tighter, shivering and pulling her knees up to her chest.

Tarrant frowned more deeply, and looked at her a second time.

'You're different.'

Her dark eyes met his, but she said nothing, and he couldn't help but compare their colour to Alice's – those eyes he hadn't seen in years, brown and full of youth and warmth. Edith's eyes were brown too, but darker; dark enough to be nearly black, empty of both youth and warmth and full instead with an unforgiving, watchful sharpness that made him feel uncomfortable. The eyes themselves were bad enough, but to see them sitting in the face of a child was plain unsettling for him. He could see the accusation of the family he had drawn Alice away from in those eyes; so grave and silent that they made the Hatter's mouth twist into an ironic half smile.

'"_Then this ebony bird beguiling, my sad fancy into smiling,"'_ he recited, _'"by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore … ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –"'_

'How do you know so much Overland poetry anyway?' interrupted Edith, seeming just as disturbed by the sudden poetry recital as he was by her.

'Alice,' he replied simply. 'She used to bring me books. We'd read them to each other sometimes … And we'd make up stories. So many stories. _"A tale begun in other days, when summer suns were glowing – a simple chime that served to time the rhythms of our rowing …"'_

Edith watched the Hatter stare into the dancing fire, colours shifting in his eyes; green and blue and yellow and faint purple. He seemed so sad and so lost for a moment that she very nearly felt sorry for him. Then she remembered the anguished eyes of her own mother, pleading with her blindly and calling for someone who wasn't there.

'Why are you doing this alone?' she said, shooting the question at him like a poison tipped arrow. 'Why won't you let anyone help you? You're not the only person who cared about her; she doesn't belong to you.'

If the words stung as much as part of her had intended them to, the Hatter gave no indication but to avoid her gaze completely.

'I need to do this myself,' he said, frowning absently as he spoke, 'because it's all my fault, you see, all my fault, and I simply must put right the mistake I made before everything's ruined forever.' He sighed. 'If we could just go back to the way we were. We were happy.'

'Things can't ever just go back to the way they were,' snorted Edith. 'And besides, what if they did? You'd never know if you'd missed out on something that came after all those bad things, something that made all the sorrow worthwhile. Doesn't everything blow over eventually?'

That wry smile appeared again.

'In a world where time doesn't work properly, there's nothing that can heal wounds, I suppose,' he said quietly, half to himself.

'What are you talking about, "all your fault"?' said Edith after a moment of silence. 'What mistake?'

'"_A boat beneath a sunny sky,_

_Lingering onward dreamily,_

_In an evening of July._

_Children three that nestle near,_

_Eager eye and willing –"'_

'Hatter! What mistake are you talking about? What did you do?' persisted Edith, leaning forward. The Hatter ignored her completely, his body stiffened and his eyes staring – the colours in them shifting and changing.

'"_Long has paled that sunny sky,_

_Echoes fade and memories die,_

_Autumn frosts have slain July …"'_

'Hatter –'

'"_Still she haunts me, phantom-wise,_

_Alice moving under skies,_

_Never seen by waking eyes –__"'_

'HATTER!' She was on her feet, screaming – he was shaking, his hands were shaking; she was desperately trying to snap him out of it, trying to stop him but unable to go anywhere near him. 'STOP! Please, stop!' She felt so tiny, so helpless, and she could see her mother before her, shaking her and calling for Alice.

As she cried out Tarrant felt his mind clear painfully, and he could see straight again. The world sorted itself out from the jumbled mass of colours, and he saw a trembling Edith standing across the slowly dying fire from him. She was scared of him, he suddenly realised. She was absolutely terrified. Sickening remorse washed through him. He was a monster – a monster, out of control.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm _find_.' He shook his head, frowning. 'I mean, fine.'

The niece shook her head, stepping away from him warily, her black eyes watchful.

'No, you're not.'

'I'm sorry,' he whispered meekly again. 'I can't help it. I scare everyone away and then it gets worse when everyone's scared away. Then there's only me. And my mind. But don't be afraid. I wouldn't hurt you.'

She wrapped her too-thin arms around herself, shivering.

'Wouldn't you?' she said coldly, swallowing.

'You are close to someone I care about very much.'

The girl choked out a laugh, 'That doesn't make any difference. It wouldn't make any difference if I were your own daughter.' She sat down on the ground again, crossing her legs.

Tarrant tilted his head at her.

'What a strange thing to say.'

She laughed again.

'Says the man with two voices,' she said, staring at the ground determinedly.

'You won't look at me now.'

She looked up at him then, in surprise, as if she'd only just realised what she was doing.

'You've remind me of … things I'd rather not be reminded of.'

'Things you would rather forget?'

'Yes.'

Tarrant thought this over to himself.

'People like me are best forgotten then?' he said quietly.

The girl stiffened.

'She never forgot you, Hatter. She never could.'

'Promise?'

'I promise,' she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. 'She always came down here.' There was something accusing about the statement, and she looked straight at him, as though he was the one to blame.

'And she always went back up there,' he said, mirroring the bitterness, returning the glare.

Silent and unspoken, their thoughts behind the two sentences hung in the frozen air.

_She came down here for _you_._

_And she went back up for _you_._

_You're the reason I never had her._

_You're the reason I was always waiting for her._

The two of them sat there, the niece and the hatter, locked against one another in the same purpose, and simultaneously missing Alice.


	13. A Use For Isolda

**Disclaimer:**

Said Absolem to Mally as they went to school one day,

'Have you finished yet that story that you started late last May?'

Said Mally back to Absolem, 'Your memory's all array,'

'It wasn't May, 'twas actually March, though that seems long ago,

I planned it well, and was upset, and understand'bly so,

When late that March I lost my work when my USB broke.

'I had to start again, my friend, I think it drove me mad,

Of course you nagged me half the time to upload what I had,

But that is not the way I work; be it good or bad.

'It's finally coming to a close, and though I think I'll miss it,

I'm kind of glad – I'm running out of nonsense to put in it –

Of course I'm speaking of – all the disclaimers that begin it.'

* * *

**_CHAPTER TWELVE – A USE FOR ISOLDA_**

At the start of the fourth day, Mallymkun was beginning to lose what little sanity she had left. However, she felt that this was a reasonable response from anyone who had just spent the past three days trekking through a dimly lit forest searching for lost, naïve, and completely _hopeless_ friends, who could have by now been kidnapped or injured or eaten or – _don't think about it_ – with only a lovesick boy and an irritatingly perfect girl for company. And neither Pig nor Isolda were exactly helping her look for Edith or Tarrant; they spent most of their time crashing through the undergrowth after her, alternating between complaining about the weather and the soreness of their feet, and respectively offering and refusing to give unconditional love.

So when Mally caught the sound of a familiar voice on the breeze, she thought she must have finally cracked.

'Edith?' she called, for what felt like the three-hundredth time, her throat sore. 'Edith?'

She pattered about in a circle, peering through the trees and bushes around her, holding her breath and straining to listen.

'… And a voice like the soft winds of pure melody,' Pig sang off-key as he followed an indifferent Isolda onto the path behind Mally, 'how can I make you understand that you were made for me?'

'Really, Pigmeckun, princesses don't marry kitchen boys –'

'Shut up, both of you!'

They fell silent instantly, cowed by the glare she summoned up – a glare fiery enough to bring down the legions of hell.

'Edith?' Mally called again.

There was silence, then a faint voice came from the left.

'Mally? Is that you?'

Unspeakable relief washed over the Dormouse.

'Of course it's me, you great stupid lump of a girl,' she laughed, scurrying towards the direction of Edith's voice. She suddenly found herself met halfway by a young Squirrel nearly twice her size and skidded to a halt.

The Squirrel looked down at her with a grin as Mally's jaw dropped.

'Edith?'

'Hullo, Mally.'

She was lifted into a stifling hug and then released back onto the forest floor, dazed.

'Leave you alone for half a minute, look what happens, you get yourself turned into a Squirrel,' Mally choked, overcome by the strange desire to burst into hysterical laughter at Edith's twitching nose and bushy tail. Then she noticed what she was wearing, and couldn't hold back the giggles. 'What – what are you …?'

'What? Oh.' Edith looked down at the hideously violent pink frock she was squeezed into. 'The Hatter made it. Apparently it was the only fabric he happened to have on him.' Something in Edith's voice told Mally that she was more than a little sceptical of this. 'And apparently even when you're a Squirrel you have to wear clothes. Something about it being a sign of intelligence.'

'Well, yes, if McTwisp saw you he'd probably keel over,' said Mally, recovering. 'Besides, how would you like it if humans went around stark – didyousaytheHattermadeit?'

'I … what?' Edith blinked, obviously struggling to decipher Mally's suddenly mangled sentence.

'You've seen the Hatter?'

'Oh, oh, yes; he's –'

There was the sound of crunching twigs and grumbling voices, and the bushes parted once more as Tarrant Hightopp arrived on the scene; absorbed in listening to the blue Stone cupped in his hands. He looked up, and his eyes fell on Mally, widening in surprise.

'Mallymkun?'

'Hatter!' She wished she could hug him. 'Where have you been?'

He seemed to fumble for words, his eyes still wide and slightly bewildered, looking from her to Edith and then to Pig and Isolda hovering in the background.

'Good heavens,' he managed. 'Where did you all come from?'

Mally noticed the Stone in his hands was emitting the faint grumbling voices, but before she could wonder at that the sight of the Stone stirred something else her mind, and she remembered that she was angry with him. She wished she could slap him.

'Hatter!' she shouted, and he took a step back from her. 'WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? You left us! You just ran off when we needed you!'

'Oh no,' he said pleadingly, 'no, no, Mally, please understand, I knew you were – I would never have –'

'And I've been looking for you for DAYS, worried out of my skull – and – and YOU!' she hollered, turning on Edith now, who also stumbled back in utter shock at the suddenness of it all, 'you think it's all very amusing to wander off into the dark, don't you? "Ooh, look at me, I'm a Squirrel now!" Well, did you ever consider that maybe I was trying to find you?'

'Well, I didn't think …'

'No, I suppose you didn't!' Mally finished crossly, folding her arms and glaring at the pair of them.

There was a very awkward silence. Edith fidgeted, the Hatter seemed to be in shock, and Mally shifted on the spot, breathing heavily.

'Well,' said Isolda sweetly, 'at least we're all together again, aren't we?'

'Don't get any ideas about a group hug,' Mally snapped without turning around. She took a deep breath. All these outbursts couldn't be good for her. 'Now. Shall we go and find dear Alice?'

'Well,' began the Hatter somewhat tentatively, 'the Stone hasn't exactly been cooperating. It talks, you see.'

'I noticed,' said Mally dryly.

'Ooh, get off your high horse, young Dormouse!' sniffed a crabby old voice from the Stone.

'I'm beginning to lose patience,' she frowned, trying not to think that she was back-chatting a rock.

'You're beginning to lose patience? I'M beginning to lose patience!' shrieked another voice, making everyone wince at its grating pitch. 'The indignities we've been subjected to!'

'Bundled up and carried like a common garden pebble!'

'Slithered over!'

'Stolen.'

'Dropped!'

'Drooled on!'

'Stolen back!'

'We've been passed from person to person like a game of Pass the Parcel!'

'Please,' said the Hatter, trying to soothe them, 'lower your –'

'FOR THE LAST TIME, MAN, I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE!'

'Decrescendo!' tittered a little girl.

'Crescendo!' squawked another.

'What are they doing?' cried Isolda, clapping her hands over her ears as the voices began to build up into an all out shriek-fest.

'What they've been doing rather a lot, I'm afraid,' sighed Tarrant.

'Allegro!'

'Ritenuto!'

'Rallentando!'

'Rallentando? Tarantallegra!'

'SPEAK ENGLISH! I don't understand half those long words, and what's more, I don't think you do either!'

'They're worse than the two of you put together!' shouted Mally over the growing racket, plugging her own ears, nodding at Tarrant and Edith.

'Some people have too much pepper, that's the problem,' Pig muttered in the background, barely audible over the screaming.

'The train is about to jump a brook! Steady on!'

'Four fifty to Flitwick! All aboard!'

'I thought it was Paddington?'

'Ah! Flitwick's little brother! It's me, a clown!'

'Clowns are terrifying.'

'Especially ones with A TEARAWAY FACE!'

'Oh, do shut up!'

'No, you shut up!'

'YOU FIRST!'

'YOU FIRST!'

'I SAID IT FIRST!'

'THERE MUST BE OTHER FACTORS!'

'YOU DON'T HAVE ANY!'

'NONSENSE!' Isolda shouted.

The Stone fell silent. Everyone turned to stare at the young woman, who was standing fist-clenched, her cheeks coloured the same delicate shade of rose pink as her dress.

'It's all nonsense,' she said decisively. 'I want to know which way we're meant to go and I want to know _now!_'

Mally saw her foot twitch, as if she was trying hard not to stamp it.

There was a very tense silence as everyone's gaze went from Isolda to the Stone and back again, waiting with held breath.

'Well. You're facing the wrong way to begin with,' said a little girl's voice meekly. 'You'll have to face north-east.'

'Then straight ahead for some time, if you please, miss,' added a young man.

Isolda smiled a sickeningly gracious smile.

'Thank you,' she said, with a superfluous nod of the head, then gathered up her skirts daintily and turned north-east, (seeming to instinctively know which way that was).

'Oh, and mind the creek ahead,' called the voice of an old woman, 'you'll want go left up it forty paces to cross where it's shallow.'

Mally realised her mouth was hanging open, and shut it with a snap.

Edith looked like she was torn between jealousy and begrudging respect, and the Hatter's eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets as Isolda floated between the two of them, leading the way.

'Are you all coming?'

Immediately Pig threw himself after her, trying to express so much admiration at once that his mouth was only capable of spitting mangled half-sentences.

'You … the most wonderful – and I've never – how did you – it almost – oh my … You melt even the hearts of stones, my sugar-sprinkled cream puff!'

Mally groaned to herself as she trudged after the still shocked Hatter and Edith, rubbing a hand over her face. There would be nothing in the world capable of shutting Pig up after this.

* * *

'O 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round!'

Pig was still singing, (unfortunately, quite literally singing), Isolda's praises three hours later, and as much as Tarrant had previously liked the boy, he was finding the madly-in-love version of him more than slightly intolerable.

'I'm certain he wasn't this much trouble as a lad,' he complained to Mally as he walked in the head, as far from the others as possible without going out of range of Isolda, who was now the only one who the Stone consented to be held by. 'He was a bright young thing, but not so … giddy.'

'Yes. Well,' said Mally shortly, 'people in love can be …'

'Hard to understand?'

'Infuriatingly thick,' she said, and smiled up at him tightly.

'Thick?' he said, non-plussed. Mally was perched on his shoulder, swaying slightly with every step he took. Every step he took closer to Alice, he realised with a sudden thrill of anticipation.

'Yes,' he heard her continue, 'a little too infatuated to see what's staring them right in the face. Or sometimes what's going on around them.'

'Mm-hmm,' he nodded vaguely. Would she look any different to the last time he had seen her? How old was she now? The last time he had seen her was the July about three months or so after her thirtieth birthday …

'You know, it's a good thing there's no tea here. If Pig had to pour a cup it would probably overflow because he'd be too busy gazing at Isolda's face while she talked. And then he'd flap his arms about and fall over himself apologising and put his elbow in the vanilla slice. And then poor, _dear_ Isolda would laugh her pretty laugh and wash a hanky and help him clean the cake off his jacket.'

Jackets … vanilla … Tarrant nodded again in a non-committed sort of way.

'Yes, it's a good thing there's no tea here.'

'Tea?' He looked down at her. When had they started talking about tea? Mally looked back at him, arms folded, both amused and irritated.

'Yes, Tarrant,' she said softly, 'tea. You really are hopeless.'

Tarrant stared at her, wondering what he had missed. He smiled, confused.

'You do say the strangest things sometimes, Mally.'

The Dormouse sighed and didn't reply.

'Mally,' he said tentatively. She looked up.

'Yes, Hatter?'

'What am I going to say to her?' he said, his voice hushed.

'Alice? I don't know,' she replied, shrugging her shoulders. He suddenly noticed how tired she looked.

'You need rest,' he said, glancing down at her in concern.

She just laughed, 'I'll only get it when this mess is all over.'

'It nearly is,' said Tarrant, marvelling at the statement, 'it nearly is. The Stone said we were nearly there – five minutes or so. Five minutes or so, and we'll see Alice again; really, Mally, can you imagine it? That Stone's been leading me around in circles all this time. If only the girl had come along sooner,' he said wistfully.

'What, so that you could have Alice all to yourself first just like you planned?'

He flinched instinctively at her tone.

'Mally … I …' he looked down at her again, and happened to catch such a miserable look on her face for half a second that his stomach curled before the expression was swiftly erased. 'I'm sorry about what happened with the creature. I did follow; I looked to make sure you were safe –'

'Didn't exactly come to our rescue though, did you? When we needed you? When I needed you –' she dropped his gaze, rubbing a hand over her face tiredly. 'We … we used to be such good friends. Do you know,' she said, looking up fiercely, 'I'd do anything for you. I would have saved you.'

'I've never been under illusion that you needed saving, Mally,' he said, smiling amusedly.

'That's not the point!' she cried suddenly, throwing her arms in the air, and he blinked in surprise, edging his head back from her. She exhaled sharply again, and turned back to him, trying to make him understand. 'Has Alice ever needed saving?'

He chuckled at that, 'No.'

'But you've always saved her.'

'That battle was different, Mally, I had to interfere or she would have … That was helping, not saving.'

'Other times, I mean. Over all these years.'

'I don't …' he was completely confused now. 'There hasn't been any danger or …'

'Oh, Tarrant, don't you see? There was no battle or danger it was just … problems. When she had problems she'd always come to you.'

He had stopped walking now, and Mally was looking up at him, her dark eyes bright.

'When there something with the company, some situation she didn't know how to handle; or someone she didn't like who she had to get along with for the sake of her job; all those worries she had about her sister's husband; the arguments she had with her family – she always talked to you.'

'Mally, that's just advice –'

'But don't you see what I mean?'

He shook his head, bewildered. She stared at him in frustration, in disbelief.

'You saved her just by being there. I think … I think she felt adrift sometimes. But you were always there. _Waiting_,' she said, and he almost caught the bitterness in her voice.

He stared at her for a moment, unsure of what she was trying to say.

'That's not saving. Not the kind you were talking about.'

'Then what are you doing right now?' she said quietly. 'You're trying to save her right now, aren't you?'

'But you and her, Mally, you're different. That's … that's different.'

'Exactly. If it was Alice being chased by some great beastie, you'd drop everything and run for her, ready to mow it down with half a broken teapot and a tin platter and a few pins.'

He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off.

'But _I_ would have saved _you_. Can't you understand why that …' she seemed to struggle to get the words out, fumbling, 'why that might hurt me?'

It wasn't easy for her, he knew, talking like this. He had been friends with her long enough to know that she didn't open up easily. Which was probably why she was being so confusing.

'Mally,' he said gently, 'please don't compare yourself to Alice, or to anyone else. I think … I believe you know why I've always had a tendency to – to 'save' Alice, even when she hasn't needed me to. You're my very close friend. I know that you've noticed that I – how I feel about her.'

'I have,' said Mally slowly, seeming to choose her words carefully. 'And sometimes … I worry that – I mean, it's always been a worry … I've seen you crash hard when she isn't around, and what if–'

'Please, don't.'

'What if you get to this place and find out she's –'

'I'm trying hard not to think about it,' Tarrant confessed.

'Even then … I suppose, if I'm honest,' said Mally, not meeting his eyes, 'I'm a little worried you'll just forget me once you skip off into the sunset with Alice.'

Tarrant stared at her once more, taken aback.

'Mally, I don't think either me or Alice could ever forget you. You wouldn't let us, now, would you?' he teased lightly, bobbing the shoulder she sat on so that she laughed, taken by surprise. 'You're like a little sister to me,' he added sincerely.

She stopped laughing abruptly, her ears turning faintly red.

'Mally?'

She was silent for a moment, then said in a very small voice, 'Thank you.'

'I'm sorry,' he said, feeling his own cheeks redden, 'I didn't mean to embarrass you.'

'You haven't embarrassed me, Tarrant,' she murmured, avoiding his gaze again.

He cleared his throat.

'I don't think there'll be any sunsets with Alice anyway,' he said.

'There – there won't be?'

'No,' he attempted a rather weak smile.

'But … I don't understand, I thought you were going to tell her when we found her!' The Dormouse looked more than a little thrown. 'You kept talking about finding her first and explaining, I thought you were going to make a big love confession or something!'

'I … I've already tried that,' he admitted uncomfortably. He looked down at her. She was frozen, gawking at him.

'You _what?_'

Before he was forced to explain, Pig, Isolda, and Edith emerged from the bushes behind them, having caught up.

'… And vinegar makes people sour, camomile bitter, and pepper, hot-tempered, like you, Edie,' Pig was saying with much waving of the hands and twisting back to look down at Edith as he walked.

'Don't call me "Edie",' she said, sending him a trademark glare as she shoved parts of the bush out of the way with vengeance.

It didn't wither him as much as it was obviously meant to; the older boy winced and picked her up cheerfully as she reached him. She stiffened immediately, staring at him with such ferocity and anger that he thought better of it and set her down right away.

'Isolda does.'

'And Isolda is on my "To Kill" List. And don't touch me,' she added with another glare. 'My hot temper does not come from overdosing on peppers. Only from spending time with scuts like you.'

'And now barley sugar,' said Pig, giving Edith up as a lost cause, 'barley sugar makes people sweet. Like you, Isolda. You must eat a lot of it.'

Isolda turned in a little swirl of skirts and said her sweetest voice, 'What's barley sugar?'

Edith snickered.

Pig turned bright red.

'What other wisdom do you have to share with us, oh culinary genius?' Edith said as she passed him.

'Just that mustard bites like flamingos,' Pig shrugged.

Edith gave him an odd look then sped up to stand beside the Hatter.

'You're being very sarcastic,' observed Mally.

'Only around them. They make me sarcastic,' she protested. 'And I hate being a Squirrel.'

'Seven feet ahead, around the bend,' said a voice from the Stone from Isolda's hands suddenly. 'Can't miss it.'

The Hatter began to walk again, following the path this time. He saw Edith hurrying along at his feet and sped up the tiniest bit. Anticipation fluttered in his stomach, which suddenly felt hollow. When was the last time he had eaten? No matter. He could eat later, with Alice, in Tea Party Clearing. With Alice, with Alice, with Alice. He was going to see Alice again. He felt like he was in some kind of dream which he hadn't yet woken up from.

'Wait for us!' called Pig behind him. There was a squeal from Isolda.

'I don't need you to hold my hand; I can find my own way seven feet up the path!'

'I'm sorry! It's just that they're going to leave us behind –'

'Oh, you stupid boy, they are _not_ going to leave us behind!' the woman snarled.

Tarrant saw Edith sneak a glance at him and walk faster. He lengthened his own stride.

Then suddenly they rounded the corner. Straight ahead of them growing in the middle of the ripped up path stood a tree; squat and thick, with barren, twisted branches and a massive, gnarly grey trunk. Set into the trunk was a crooked little red door with a worn brass handle.

At the sight of it Edith leapt instinctively onto all fours, scurrying towards it. Tarrant broke into a run, trying to catch up to the small Squirrel.

'Hatter!' cried Mally as she was bounced about on his shoulder, clinging onto his jacket for dear life. 'Hatter, slow down!'

Without slowing or speaking he scooped her up, stooped low and dropped her gently onto the ground, sprinting to keep up with Edith, who was swift, and just as determined as he was; now just a streak of brown speeding towards the door.

Tarrant could hear Pig and Isolda arguing and calling out behind them, could hear Mally shouting at him, but at the moment he was completely focused on the race to Alice. The niece was going to reach the door before him.

And she did. With a distorted cry that sounded something like, 'AUNT-ALICE!' the niece turned the doorknob the moment she reached it and hurtled through the door. Darkness was beyond, pitch black and unrevealing.

The Hatter hunched down and ran through the open door, flinching as his hat was knocked off by the low frame. Suddenly he was freezing cold and blind and in utter, choking darkness.


	14. Doors

**Disclaimer:**

"Can you write a little faster?"

Manny said to Bernard Black,

"Really this is out of hand,

Your writing ethic's far too slack."

* * *

**_CHAPTER THIRTEEN – DOORS_**

Tarrant shivered involuntarily in the cold. He blinked, and the darkness began to clear, as if it were dark fog instead of blackness. He blinked again, and again, and slowly a familiar ceiling came into view. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at an ancient chandelier. When had he fallen? He sat up, disorientated, feeling on his head for the reassuring texture of his hat. It wasn't there. He cringed. He hated going without the hat.

Looking around, he saw Edith spread eagled on the black and white marble floor beside him, human and grubby and dressed in what seemed to be a tattered white nightgown and faded red coat; a pair of clunky, mud-coated boots on her feet. As he looked at her she rolled over and tried to climb to her feet dizzily – Tarrant thought this to be a bad move, and Edith's legs apparently agreed with him. The girl cried out and flung her arms out, grabbing onto the glass table that definitely hadn't been there before to steady herself.

'W-what?' she stammered. 'But … this has to be a mistake. We're back in the –'

'The Round Hall,' nodded the Hatter, standing and trailing his gaze over the dark grey identical doors which lined the wall of the circular room. 'You would have come through here before, yes?'

'I did. And I …' at that moment she noticed that she was no longer a Squirrel and started in rather comical surprise. 'I'm a girl again! How …'

'The Round Hall is the doorway between Underland the Overland. It usually returns you to the state you arrived in,' he explained absently, walking past the doors, pausing at each one to press his ear briefly to the wood. All were silent.

He heard Edith sigh in relief.

'So where's Aunt Alice?'

The Hatter felt a twinge of annoyance at the word "Aunt".

'Well, obviously through one of these doors,' he said, throwing her an impatient look. She frowned at him, crossing her arms, and he turned back to the door he was currently in the middle of scrutinising.

'I've always wondered what was behind the other doors,' he murmured, tracing patterns in the woodwork with one hand.

Edith was silent. He turned back to look at her. She was shifting her weight uncomfortably, rubbing at one arm.

'The door I came through … it had _eyes_. Just eyes, everywhere,' she said. 'They weren't exactly pleasant.'

'_I doubt that Alice stayed here for seven years because it was pleasant,'_ rumbled the Hatter quietly. He hunched over, bending down to peer through the keyhole of the door. Only black was visible. Straightening, he shrugged, 'I suppose we have to start somewhere.'

He heard Edith start forward behind him as he turned the doorknob.

'What are you doing?'

With a strong feeling that what he was doing was the wrong thing, the Hatter pushed the door open. It put up a struggle, as if it was glued shut, and he had to slam his weight into it twice before it opened without warning, and he was sucked into the darkness beyond as if into a vacuum.

'Wait, Hatter!'

He turned his head back up. Just before he fell out of sight of the door, he saw Edith jump after him, silhouetted against the dim light of the first room. The door slammed shut behind her, and they were left in total darkness, hurtling downwards and gaining speed.

* * *

'Hatter!'

Mally had watched in dismay as first Edith and then the Hatter disappeared through the red door. Tarrant's hat was knocked to the ground by the frame, and when Mally reached it rolling on the forest path she stopped by it, clinging to the brim.

The red door in the tree was swinging wide open. Mally left the hat and approached it cautiously, staring into the darkness.

'Hatter?'

Her gut feeling was telling her to run, to get as far away from that door as possible. But the Hatter had gone through it. So had Edith.

'Hatter? Edith? Come back!'

She heard footsteps and turned to see Pig jogging up beside her, Isolda trudging along behind him irritably.

'Mally. We should wait for them to come back.'

'Wait?' Mally turned back to the door.

'They'll come back out eventually.'

Slowly Mally shook her head, 'No.'

'What?'

'I'm sick of _waiting_.' Before the voice in her head screaming at her to turn around and run in the opposite direction could change her mind, she scurried full speed at the door, not stopping even when she passed through it into an icy blackness.

The darkness cleared, and she sat up in a room lined with doors.

'The Round Hall?'

Confused, she stood unsteadily, half of her wondering how she got down on the floor in first place, looking from door to door.

'Edith? Tarrant?' she called. 'Are you here?'

She stood in silence for a moment, watching the doors. She could almost feel eyes on her, prickling the back of her neck, as if the doors were watching her back. Or as if someone behind the doors was watching her. All was deathly quiet. Nothing moved but the old chandelier above her, swinging slightly in a non-existent wind.

'I'm going to have to go through one of the doors, aren't I?' she sighed. Closing her eyes, she spun around three times. When she opened her eyes once more she made her way across the room to the first door her gaze landed on – a door exactly like the others; dark and forbidding. Then she hit on a problem.

'How do I reach the doorknob?' she thought aloud, looking up at it from the floor.

As if it heard her, the handle turned, and the door swung open of its own accord. Mally expected more yawning blackness and was surprised when it opened onto green hedgerows. She stepped inside, her sense of foreboding growing stronger.

The air was thin and crisp; the sky a pale winter blue. Mally's breath left clouds of steam in the air. She turned back to look at the door into the first room. It swung shut behind her, clicking and locking into place.

Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Mally set off down the row of hedges, gravel crunching beneath her feet. Instinct was telling her to run – exactly where she didn't know, but the urge was building inside her like panic.

_Stay calm. Stay calm._

She breathed in and out, forcing herself to walk slowly. She rounded the corner and found another passage made by the hedgerows, stretching some feet in front of her before finishing with a dead end. She nearly ran back to the door then and there, but pushed ahead, a theory springing up in her mind. Sure enough, when she reached the dead end she found it was a spot where the passage diverged into two paths of hedgerows.

'A maze?'

She turned back and forth, weighing up her options. Both paths looked exactly the same.

'Edith? EDITH?' she bellowed as loud as she could muster, 'HATTER?'

Just when she thought she would get no reply, she caught the faintest voice; a steady murmur from her right.

'Hello?' she called out. It didn't sound like either of her friends. But it was definitely familiar.

The urge to run was getting stronger than ever. Walker faster, she took the right path, following the voice.

* * *

Pig had refused to go through the door.

'We should wait here,' he said, trying his best to cross his arms and stand firm. Unfortunately, being firm was not one of his strong points.

'What if they're in trouble?' said Isolda, inspecting a nail meticulously. 'We really ought to help them.'

'I don't think I'd be much help,' he said, his voice coming out small and rather pathetic.

She shot a look at him.

'You're not very brave, are you, boy?'

He felt his cheeks burn under her gaze.

'I – I … I could be … I –'

'Prove it,' she said. She looked at the open door pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. 'You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?'

His heart skipped a beat.

'Yes,' he said immediately. 'But I really think –'

'You said you loved me,' she sighed, turning her back to him, facing the door so that he couldn't see her expression.

'I do,' he said, dodging around in front of her. Her expression was so utterly blank that he shivered involuntarily. 'Er … Isolda? Are you alright?'

'Why won't you do this one little thing for me?' she said, her voice piteous and her face cold.

He stared at her, and suddenly felt that something was very, very wrong.

'Come with me, boy,' she said sweetly, her hands fiddling with his lapels. She smiled up at him with pale lips. 'Don't you want see what's inside the doors?'

Before he could obey the urge to run from her, she delicately pushed his chest with the tips of her nails and he lost his balance, falling backwards into the cold and the dark.

* * *

Edith wasn't sure how long they had been falling. Every now and then she would bump against something in the darkness; things soft or furry or hard or slimy. She was just glad that no eyes had appeared yet. A cold wind was whistling past her, making goosebumps pop up on her arms.

'Hatter?'

'I'm here,' came the reply, a foot or so below her.

It was the strangest thing – it felt like she was falling and staying in the same place as well. Or as if the world was flying upwards past her.

'What if we should come out the other side?' said the Hatter, raising his voice above the wind.

'In Australia?' said the Edith, confused.

'Australia?'

'I'm told it's on the other side of the world.'

There was high-pitched laugh from the Hatter.

'Do the people all walk upside down then?' There was a nervous tremor behind the joke, and for once Edith could sympathise with him.

'Will we ever stop?'

As though answering her question, a piece of ground suddenly met them with a muffled thud. Edith sat up. All around her was a very simple blackness, but she could see the Hatter sitting before her. And she wasn't at all sure about what she could see of him.

'What's happened to you?' she said, horrified. He seemed to have turned into a bright green flame. Dancing around the flame were glowing balls of light and tiny figures, and what seemed to be a slightly bruised lump burning within the green flame itself, beating steadily.

The flame quivered, twisting slightly, and Edith got the impression that he was looking down at himself.

'Oh, good heavens. That's never happened before.' He only seemed mildly surprised and vaguely interested. He looked back up at her. 'That's a rather starved heart you've got there.'

'What?' She looked down at her own body, and let out a little shriek when she saw that in its place was a bright red fire, surrounded by its own motley assortment of spheres and figures, including a slightly stunted-looking lump of her own, burning in the centre of her flame. 'What's happened to us?'

'I think we've been turned inside out,' said the Hatter thoughtfully, 'it happened to a cousin of mine once. Nasty business.'

'But … but …' Staring at herself in shock, she recognised a squat little figure trying to break away from the rest. 'Oh no,' she groaned.

'What's wrong?'

'I think I'm going to lose my temper again,' she said, trying to hold the little figure in. Unfortunately, this was not an easy thing to do without hands.

'Don't worry, I think your conscience and your sense of serenity are holding it back,' observed the Hatter. She decided to let the obviously stifled chuckle in his voice pass.

'This is madness,' she said, wishing that she had hands to throw in the air in exasperation.

'This is Underland,' the Hatter replied, amused.

'How do we change back?'

The green flame quivered again, which seemed to be the equivalent of a shrug.

'I suppose we'll just have to pull ourselves together.'

And with that there was an audible popping noise, like a balloon bursting, and the Hatter was suddenly in the place of the green fire, sitting cross-legged and twiddling his thumbs, looking around nonchalantly.

'She's not here,' he noted.

'How did you do that?'

'Hmm? Do what?'

Edith huffed, trying not to let her temper get loose, 'You're impossible.'

'Come on, hurry up,' urged the Hatter insistently, 'we simply must be getting on to the next room.'

'I can't!'

'Try.'

She glowered at him.

'I won't be able to work it out by myself, you know. I didn't grow up here,' she snapped, 'you did.'

The Hatter quirked an eyebrow at her.

'Is that you asking for my help?'

Biting back a sarcastic reply, she forced out politeness like verbal medicine, 'Yes, please.'

Even the Hatter looked surprised at the 'p' word.

'You're not _ordering_ me to help you? Did I hear correctly?' he said, cupping a hand to his ear. Oh, how she envied him and his current ability to have hands.

'Was I really that much of a brat?' she said bitterly.

'Still are, Edith,' he replied cheerfully, 'but I'm told that admitting it is the first step to recovery.'

'I do try to be nice,' she protested, 'I just don't think I'm very good at it.'

His expression softened slightly, though he still looked sceptical.

'You can't just try,' he said, 'it has to come from the heart. It's something that one has to truly mean.' He looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap, then back up at her with something surprisingly close to a grateful smile, 'You're a good friend to Mally. And she needs one,' he added, barely audible as he ducked his head again.

There was an uncomfortable silence, Edith's fire crackling the only sound.

'Could you help me? Please? I'll be stuck here.'

He looked up. For one horrible moment he seemed to hesitate, then a small smile appeared on his face.

'Of course,' he said, and lifted a hand to his head as if to tip his hat. When he found it wasn't there, he seemed to try and cover up the motion by scratching his head awkwardly as he got to his feet.

'What you need to do,' he said, 'is very simple.'

Edith would have rolled her eyes if she had them.

'Of course it is.'

'And don't roll your eyes at me,' said the Hatter absently, ignoring her spluttered reaction. 'What you need to do is pull yourself together.'

'You said that before,' she said impatiently, tacking, 'sir,' onto the end hastily as he shot her a reproving look. 'How am I supposed to…?'

'Well, think about it. What would you do to pull yourself together?'

'I'd … sort of … pull myself –' Before she could even finish the sentence, her stomach, wherever it was, jolted sickeningly. Edith felt her ears pop painfully, and clapped her hands over them. 'Ouch!'

'There we are, all normal and right-way-out again; even the right size and species,' grinned the Hatter, 'isn't it nice when everyone's that way?'

Edith felt a wave of relief wash over her as she looked down at her hands.

'I have hands!' she said, struggling not to be ridiculously over-joyed.

'Yes, yes, yes,' nodded the Hatter, 'it's wonderful, I'm sure, but perhaps we should be moving on?'

Edith scrambled up from the floor, straightening her clothes out.

'How do we get out?' she said, looking around for another door.

'That is the question,' said the Hatter, tucking his hands behind his back and putting on a big show of strolling around the blackness curiously. 'A rather good question, considering our present circumstances.'

Edith folded her arms, unimpressed, 'If you don't know how to get the next room you should just say so.'

The Hatter mumbled something unintelligible and vague in response, ferreting around in his pockets for something or other.

'Are we meant to go back up?'

'Hmm?' He was fiddling with something silver, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.

'Hatter,' said Edith, 'please. Put the shiny thing away and tell me how we're going to find Alice.'

'Perhaps … if we could just provoke …' he mumbled so low that she barely caught the words.

As Edith opened her mouth to question him he crouched down, frowning slightly, and jabbed at the blackness beneath his feet with the hatpin he held in his hand.

Edith went blind. The blackness suddenly consumed them both – either that or the Hatter disappeared. No, she discovered as looked down at her invisible hands, she just couldn't see anything. She stiffened as she heard something, then realised that it was the Hatter shuffling around nearby.

'Ah,' he said.

'What – did – you – _do?_' she said through gritted teeth.

'Forgive me, I merely thought – oh, my.'

'You merely thought "oh, my"?'

'No … But for a moment there I could have sworn – there it is again.'

'What are you talking about?'

There was a small silence. Then:

'Are you blinking?' whispered the Hatter hoarsely.

'I … what?'

'When was the last time you blinked?'

'How should I know?' said Edith, annoyed.

'Blink.'

'Why?'

'_Just do it, Edith Manchester.'_

Edith pursed her lips in impatience, but blinked. She jumped when an image flashed behind her eyes.

'What was that?' she yelped, twisting her head wildly around in the dark.

'Close your eyes,' said the Hatter, his voice cracked with an unidentifiable emotion.

Edith closed her eyes, and her stomach flipped over. She could see where they were standing.

The two of them were in a slightly out-of-date drawing room which would have looked comfortable and inviting if everything hadn't been covered in a thick layer of dust and grime and the feeling of decay wasn't hanging in the still air. Faded and ripped crimson armchairs were grouped around a dark wood coffee table, upon which sat a chessboard. The chessboard was in total disarray; pieces had been thrown across the board and had fallen off the table – Edith even spied a few half buried in the ashes spilling out onto the hearth of the large fireplace, which was stationed right in front of Edith and the Hatter like a gaping mouth.

The thing that caught Edith's attention, however – and which had no doubt also caught the Hatter's – was the giant looking glass hanging suspended in mid air over the coffee table. It was easily taller and much wider than a grown man, and the ceiling was only just high enough to accommodate it. And reflected in the looking glass, her golden hair fanned out and moving slowly around her, her eyes open and staring, was Alice.

Edith let out an involuntary cry. She looked behind herself automatically, but no one was there. Alice seemed to exist within the mirror itself, floating as though underwater and deathly pale. A part of Edith wanted to rush forward exclaiming, calling for her aunt; another part could hardly believe that she had finally found her; and yet another part, strongest of all, wanted to turn and run. There was a sick feeling deep in her gut, something instinctive telling her to get out of that room, to get away from that looking glass. There was something malevolent in the air.

'Hatter …' she said uncertainly, unable to turn her head to look at him, rooted to the spot and frozen with dread.

He moved forwards, coming into her field of vision. His eyes had turned the old sickly yellow colour, and his jacket seemed to have drooped two shades darker; he looked lost and strange without his hat.

'Alice,' he croaked, approaching the mirror, transfixed.

A shadow flitted in the corner of the room.

'Hatter,' said Edith, her unease growing, 'I don't like this.'

He wasn't listening; he was muttering to himself, drawing closer to the looking glass.

'_The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes …'_ He reached a hand out, extending towards the glass.

Edith saw him, her gut lurched with inexplicable panic, and she lunged forward to stop him, but was already too late.

'HATTER, DON'T!'

The hand pressed against the surface of the mirror, and the glass quivered for half a second. Then suddenly there was no glass there, and the Hatter lost his balance; he was sucked inside the looking glass, disappearing completely, leaving Edith to grasp at thin air. She skidded to a halt and tripped, sprawling across the coffee table over the chess pieces painfully, landing with a bone-juddering crash on the stone hearth as her weight up-ended the table.

'Hatter! You idiot!' she shouted, struggling to free herself from the mess of table and chess board and twisting around to see that the looking glass had vanished. 'No,' she moaned, shaking her head, 'no, no, no; you can't leave me here …'

She climbed to her feet, leaving heavily on the mantelpiece to support her bruised legs, head spinning. The room seemed to be getting smaller. Edith shook her head, trying to clear her it. The shadows in the corners of the room were growing, eating up her surroundings with impenetrable darkness. Edith jumped and gasped as one shadow broke apart from the rest, swooping down on her and whistling past her ear – it left an icy coldness in its wake. Two more followed suit, and more and more, until she was pinned between the mantelpiece and the fallen table, stumbling over littered chess pieces as the shadows swirled around her.

One shadow darted forward again and swept straight through her, freezing her insides painfully for a brief moment. The shadows were slowly rising, pressing in on her; suffocating her with their chill; flitting back and forth playfully. Edith was suddenly and vividly reminded of a feral cat she had seen in her garden once playing with a mouse, one paw pinning it down by the tail as the other paw batted at its tiny body. The memory managed to spark a feeling she was well familiar with, the familiarity flaring up against the terror coursing through her. Edith was furious.

'I'm not a mouse!' she shouted at the shadows. She seized the crooked iron poker lying at the hearth, brandishing it like a sword. Although she didn't think lunging would be very useful against shadows, it made her feel better having something solid in her hands. 'I won't let you play with me!'

A shadow nipped straight through her again, as if to highlight how useless her poker was. Edith clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.

'If you're going to kill me, just do it,' she said, summoning up all the indignity and anger she had in her to stop her voice from quaking.

_Where are you, Hatter, Alice? Where are you, Mally?_

The thoughts shot through her head before she could stop them, and her stomach flipped with renewed fear. She was utterly alone, without a clue as to what to do, and armed with a dusty poker.

The shadows reared up before her, gathering together like a thundercloud. Edith looked up at them, took a deep breath, and nearly managed to bite back a scream as they swept down upon her and smothered her completely.

* * *

'_There once …'_

Mally wasn't sure how long she had been walking. She felt almost dizzy as she made her way through the hedge maze, following the voices – which were growing stronger. The urge to run was making her feel sick to her stomach. Still she forced herself to walk, checking her pace when she sped up.

'_Tell us … please …'_

At the first the voices had been a murmur, now snatches of the words could be made out.

'_You tell … please … the best …'_

'_Before she calls …'_

The voices were so familiar to her, and still she couldn't pin them down.

'Who's there?' she called again. 'What are you saying?'

The words, too, were familiar; things she had heard a thousand times before. Mally rounded another corner, found another fork, took another path – all automatically by now. The voices seemed to block out every other sense and sound; the gravel beneath her feet, the rustling of the leaves, and the chill; they all disappeared as the voices got louder.

Her pace had quickened now, but she was too much in a trance to stop, or even to notice.

'_Tell us …'_

'_Tell us …'_

The voice joined into a chorus as she rounded a corner. Recognition sparked within her. She knew who it was.

She was running, sprinting as fast as she could; taking this path and then another, completely heedless of her instinct to run in the opposite direction.

'_Please, brother …'_

'_Alright …'_

Mally took the last turn and skidded to a halt in the centre of the maze – a circle where all the paths opened into a clearing. In the middle stood a round wall of crumbling bricks, faded red and nearly falling down. A little roof arched over it, a bucket suspended on a rope hanging over the hole in the centre.

'_There once were four sisters,'_ the voice whispered up from the hole.

Mally approached it, hardly daring to breathe.

_Run. Run. Run. Run._

'_Elsy … Lacy …'_

She climbed the wall, and looked down into the darkness of the well.

'_Tilly …'_

'_And Mally,'_ she chanted in time with the voice. _'And they lived in the bottom of a well.'_

'_What did they live on?'_ her own voice echoed up from the well, younger and smaller and almost naïve.

'_Treacle.'_

Mally jumped.


	15. Nightmare

**Disclaimer:**

And in that darkness when I'm blind,

With what I can't forget,

Perhaps I'll write something that's mine,

But, alas – not yet.

* * *

**_CHAPTER FOURTEEN – NIGHTMARE_**

Edith woke with a start, her eyes snapping open. She was in darkness, warm and stifling. She tossed about for a minute, not knowing where she was, when one foot connected with a hot water bottle.

Of course. She was home, safe in bed. She pushed the covers back and sat up, breathing a sigh of relief shakily. It had all been a nightmare, a terrible dream, and now she was awake and safe in bed.

Edith looked around her bedroom, the horror that always lingers after one's nightmares still on her skin, making her shiver slightly. Moonlight was falling in patches through her window, lighting the room softly. Edith could feel her hair brushing her shoulders, still damp from her bath. It hadn't been long since she was sent to bed.

She got out of bed and padded across the room to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. The grounds were bathed in white glow from the moonlight; dew was frosting on the grass.

It had been such a vivid dream, and now she could barely remember it – even now the details were slipping away from her. She had been in a strange place … full of strange people. There was talking mouse … and a white castle … Edith shook her head. It was pointless trying to remember now.

Yawning sleepily and ruffling her messy hair, she turned away from the window and caught something moving in the corner of her eye. She glanced at the mirror over her dressing table. There was no one there. That nightmare was making her paranoid.

Tomorrow morning she had to wake early, perhaps make Mother something special for breakfast. It was hard to believe that Grandmother's funeral had only been that morning. Edith rubbed at her face tiredly, and was thinking of sneaking downstairs for a mug of hot chocolate when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.

She started, a chill running down the length of her spine as though someone had poured a trickle of cold water down the back of her nightgown. She turned away from the looking glass to look at the door, just as a shadow flitted behind the glass of the mirror. Her head whipped back, but nothing was there.

The knock came again.

'Alice?'

Edith felt like all the breath had been knocked out of her.

'Mother?' she said hoarsely.

'I have a secret to tell you.' Her voice was sweet, like over-ripe fruit, putrid and stinking. She hadn't heard that voice in weeks. Weeks? No, _hours_; she had bid Mother goodnight only hours ago.

'_A month,'_ hissed a voice from the looking glass, '_it's been over a month since you saw your mother. A lot can happen in a month. While you were stumbling through forests and stealing from houses did you ever stop and actually ask yourself if it was worth it?'_

'Who said that?' Her own voice sounded panicky and high-pitched. There was no one in the mirror.

'Edie, let me tell you a secret,' whispered Mother sweetly.

With a sudden lurch of foreboding, Edith backed away from the mirror.

'Let me out,' she said to the empty looking glass, 'let me out of here.'

'_We don't want to play with you, Edie,'_ hissed the voice, _'we want to tell you the truth.'_

'I don't care, let me out.'

'Out of where, Edie? What are you talking about?' came her mother's voice through the door, over the steady knocking. 'You're safe at home, in your bedroom. Let me in.'

'No.'

'_Edie,'_ coaxed her mother and the looking glass in perfect unison, _'you're safe. You're awake now.'_

'Am I?' She wasn't sure anymore. 'Or did I drown, in the stream? It's impossible, I stopped breathing – I must have drowned.'

'You're awake, Edie. Awake and safe at home.'

Edith looked at the mirror – the mirror that didn't show her reflection.

'I don't have a looking glass in my bedroom,' she said quietly.

There was a tense silence. Then the knocking grew louder.

'Let me in.'

'I won't,' she said firmly, as firm as Mally was whenever she was telling her what a spoilt brat she was being. She felt a stab of panic. Mally. Where was she? And the Hatter and Alice –

The door handle rattled.

'Stop it.'

The thing on the other side ignored her, scraping on the wood of the door, thumping against it as if throwing all its weight into it.

'You can't scare me,' Edith said, though the shaking in her voice told otherwise.

The door rattled on its hinges ferociously, the handle twitching and shaking. Edith ran straight at the door, slamming into it with her fist.

'Stop it!'

'Let me tell you a secret.'

'I don't want to hear it!'

'It's only the truth.'

She knew it was the truth. Whatever it was, it was true. She knew it somehow, and suddenly she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears to block it out.

Edith scrambled to the window, fumbling with the lock. It was sealed shut, and the hinges had disappeared. Panic rising like bile in her throat, she banged on the glass, calling for help.

'Mally! MALLY! Hatter, Aunt Alice; where are you?'

'Edie …'

'Let me out!' That poker would have come in handy smashing the glass right now. Edith half-wondered where it was, then realised it was probably never real. She picked up the chair at the dressing table and tried to break the window open. The chair went straight through the glass and came straight out again, as if she were dipping it in water. Edith dropped the chair with a crash and pressed a hand against the glass in disbelief. The window was solid again. She noticed her hand was beginning to shake, and she shuddered in horror, remembering Mother's shaking hands.

'I'm going mad,' she muttered, shaking her sleeve over the hand.

'_Or perhaps you've just gotten saner.'_

'_Perhaps you're awake.'_

'_Perhaps you drowned.'_

'_Perhaps you're __**dead**__.'_

The voices hissed into her ear, the only thing she could hear over the rattling and scraping noises behind the door.

'Please,' Edith said weakly, feeling her knees giving way even as she tried to stay steady, tried to stay angry – anything to shield herself against the despair washing slowly over her. 'I have to find Alice …'

'How can you find her if you don't even know where you are?'

From somewhere far off Edith felt the pain of hitting the ground.

'That's silly,' she murmured to herself, 'this ground isn't real. How can it hurt me?'

'_It's only a dream, Edie …'_

'It it?'

'_It's only a dream, and life is but a dream, ever drifting down the stream, lingering in the golden gleam …'_

The singing lulled her to sleep as the shadows closed in, the knocking on the door beating steadily. And in that sleep the voices from the looking glass whispered into her ear, terrible, terrible truths.

* * *

What confused Mally was the fact that after jumping, she didn't land. She just found herself at a green door so familiar she felt her heart skip a painful beat. With a quivering hand she turned the brass knob and stepped into the room beyond, the smell of herb bread hitting her instantly.

She was standing in a dining room with an adjoining kitchen. The chairs at the table had patched and faded seats; the table itself was set for supper. On the stove a pot of steaming stew sat cooling, a pair of patchwork oven mitts hanging beside the oven. The whole room had been carved out of the centre of an oak tree.

Mallymkun's chest ached with the familiarity of it all. She trailed her hands over the chairs, touched her mother's oven mitts, breathed in the scent of the herb bread. Tears stung her eyes.

'This was my home,' she said aloud, her voice breaking.

'_Don't interrupt, Mally …'_

Mally jumped at the voice, then remembered.

'_Sorry, Dormie. But you can't live on treacle,'_ reasoned her younger self from somewhere above.

She crossed the room to the stairs, but hesitated on the first step, one hand absently tracing the well-known contours of the banister. Where was she, exactly? How did she know she wasn't being led into a trap? In the place of the dread now there was numbness. Whatever instinct was telling her now she was ready to ignore it.

All thoughts of Edith, the Hatter, and Alice far from her mind, she climbed the spiralling stairs which wormed their way through the oak. She passed doors that led to other rooms and other floors and other flights of stairs, but she continued up the main staircase. The voices became clearer and clearer.

'Oh, just ignore Mally, Dormie.'

That was Elsy; the eldest, the bossiest.

'Hurry up with the story, please, brother,' begged another voice.

'As if you never interrupt stories, Lacy,' said the young Mally indignantly.

'Ignore them both,' declared Elsy, 'besides, if you don't hurry Tilly will be asleep again before you've finished.'

'No, I won't!' protested the youngest Dormouse.

'Yes, you will – your eyes are drooping.'

'They're not!'

'You always fall asleep, Tilly.'

'I do not!'

Mally reached the door of Dormie's old room. She could imagine the scene within; all five Dormice huddled in quilts on the bed, pushing each other and squirming and nudging Tilly awake whenever she fell asleep. Mally put a hand out to open the door, but something made her hesitate once more, reluctant to break whatever spell she was under by opening the door.

'They couldn't live on treacle,' said the young Mally within, her voice very serious, 'they'd have been ill.'

'And so they were,' said Dormie knowingly, 'they were very ill.'

There was a silence as all four sisters seemed to consider this piece of news.

'And these four sisters –'

'Were they human or Animal?'

'Shush, Mally!'

'No, it's a fair question,' said Dormie slowly. He paused a moment, then said, 'They could change between at will.'

'Mama said it's not possible to change –'

'Why did you ask her?'

'Why would you want to be _human?_'

'Mally's just curious, girls,' said Dormie, 'and, Mally, it was possible for these sisters,' he added firmly.

'Oh,' said little Mally, sounding slightly more satisfied.

'Now, these four sisters were learning to draw treacle.' Apparently the Mally in the room had opened her mouth to interrupt again, because Dormie added hurriedly, 'And they drew it from the treacle-well they lived in.'

'But if they were _inside_ the well –'

'They also drew a great many things more. All manner of things beginning with an 'M'.'

'Did they draw me?' wondered younger Mally.

'Sometimes,' said Dormie, before Elsy cut over the top of him.

'Who would ever want to draw you?' she said snootily.

'You shouldn't put on airs, Elsybeth,' said Mally heatedly.

'You're just jealous because Thom from the beech tree down by the creek likes me better than you.'

'Thom? Who wants smelly old Thom? He collects fly wings!'

'Thom not good enough for you, then? I guess should have known you would aim _higher_,' said Elsy slyly.

'Now, Elsy, leave Mally alone.'

'I don't think –'

'Then you shouldn't talk,' quipped Mally.

'Why, you little –'

'Children! Suppertime!' called another unforgettable voice from downstairs.

Outside the door Mally turned in surprise.

'Mama?' she croaked, too taken aback to move. Too late she realised she was standing outside the door and the young Dormice were about to run into her. The door slammed open and Mally tried to scramble out of the way, but her attempts proved pointless. Her brother and sisters and younger self ran straight through her as though she were nothing more than a ghost; clattering on down the stairs to supper they bickered and teased each other whilst Dormie tried to referee.

They all looked just as she remembered them. Dormie; with his brown fur and brown eyes; wise beyond his years and always the calm centre. Elsy; with her immaculate fur the colour of cream and her frilly dress, smoothing it down subconsciously as she tiptoed daintily down the stairs. Lacy; young and quirky, bouncing around like a ball of tightly wound energy and copper fur. Then of course there was Mally herself, tiny and runty and white, too-big hatpin sword held up with one hand to stop the new and precious gift from clanging on the stairs. Last of all, trailing behind sleepily, was Tilly, a blue ribbon tied around the bunch of mousy grey fur atop her head.

Tiny little Tilly, always sleepy and hard to wake. She had been the first to go – lost when the Red Knights set fire to the oak tree. One minute she had been behind them as they all ran and tripped down the stairs for last time, then next she was gone; taken by the flames.

Standing at the top of the stairs, staring into space, Mally heard a new voice whisper from Dormie's room.

'_They're all dead, aren't they Dormouse?'_

'What?'

Mally pushed the door further open and slipped into the room, trying not to look at the rocking chair and patchwork quilts and pillows littering the floor. Mounted on the wall opposite the window that let the light of the setting sun into the room was an empty looking glass.

Mally frowned when she saw the empty mirror. She picked up a toy horse from the bedside table and bounced it in front of the glass. The horse seemed to float in midair. She was invisible.

'Where am I?' she asked of thin air, letting the horse fall onto the mess of pillows and blankets on the floor.

'_In your home, Dormouse,'_ came a voice from the empty looking glass.

Mally, shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her mouth.

'No, I'm not,' she said, 'my home is gone.' She looked around the room, trying not to breathe the familiar smells in too deeply. 'Where am I really?' she said as she picked up the toy horse and set it back on the bedside table, trying to appear and sound only vaguely interested, even amused, by her situation. Inside she was panicked whirl of emotions; worrying about the Hatter and Edith and even Alice, trying to work out where in Underland she actually was, and struggling not to let raw memories and grief engulf her.

'_Do you remember, Dormouse? The night when everything burned?'_

The half smile dropped from Mally's face, and she subconsciously gripped her sword.

'What?'

'_Do you remember the night when your home was gone, burnt to cinders and beyond repair? Do you remember how angry you were? You joined the Resistance – do you remember how you persuaded your brother to join it too? Do you remember how reluctant he was, how he could never hurt a fly even if it wanted to hurt him?'_

'You shut up,' said Mally darkly, drawing her sword, because it was the only thing she could do.

'_Do you remember when they caught him, and they took off his head, then for good measure they took off your mother's, and your sisters'? Do you remember how you got away?'_

'They didn't tell the Red Knights,' snapped Mally, 'that's how I got away.'

'_They didn't tell the Red Knights,'_ echoed the voice with vicious satisfaction. '_You weren't there, and they didn't tell the Red Knights there was another Ipswich Dormouse. Why didn't they tell, Dormouse? Why didn't they say that you were the only one who had wanted to fight in the first place?'_

'Because they loved me,' said Mally fiercely, a tear escaping as her voice cracked. She wiped angrily at the tear, brushing it off her cheek.

'_Do you remember, Dormouse?'_

Oh, she remembered, alright. She'd never forget it. Images of smoke and fire and tree limbs crashing down around her head, bodies lying on the ground – bodies that had once upon a time been people she had grown up with. The iron stench of blood – blood everywhere and burnt fur and hair.

'_It was your fault they died.'_

'It was no one's fault but the Bloody Red Queen's!' Mally roared.

'_REMEMBER?'_

'SHUT UP!'

Before she could move a shadow shot out of the mirror and swallowed her whole, enveloping her in darkness. Mally felt around blindly, trying to use the hatpin as a guide. There seemed to be nothing around her. Suddenly a light snapped into being, falling in a bright white column. She flinched, squinting against the brightness, shielding her eyes with her free hand. As she adjusted to the light she saw that it fell on another looking glass, full-length for a human. Finally her gut instinct returned, rushing at her with a warning to stay where she was.

_Don't look in the mirror._

'_Look in the mirror, Dormouse,' _hissed the voices from the looking glass.

_Don't._

'No,' she said, staring at her feet.

'_Coward,'_ one voice spat.

Mally's head snapped up instinctively, ready to shout at the looking glass. Then she saw her reflection, and froze completely.

'_We know the truth, Mally,'_ whispered the voices.

Instead of a small, white Dormouse with a hatpin hanging limply by her side, there stood in the mirror a girl – a young woman, brandishing the Vorpal Sword; a fierce, determined look in her brown eyes. She wasn't jaw-droppingly handsome like Isolda, or soft and beautiful like Alice, but she was pretty in a feisty, farmgirl kind of way. Her straw-coloured hair was braided into two short plaits; freckles were sprinkled across her pointed nose.

'That's not me,' said Mally, unable to back away from the mirror.

'_It could be. It could have been. It might have been. It might still be,'_ chorused the voices.

'You're lying.'

'_We speak only the truth. We see only the truth.'_

'And what you see can be deceiving.' Mally laughed, the sound shaking in the silence, 'Why would I want to be human?'

The girl in the mirror disappeared. Images flashed in the glass; the girl fighting huge monsters, the girl talking to humans, riding a horse, dancing in a ballroom with –

'The Hatter.' Mally stared, transfixed as the Hatter in the looking glass spun and lifted the girl, laughing happily and holding her close.

'_We know everything you're ever wanted, Mally,'_ whispered the voice, wriggling into her ear. _'And we can give it to you.'_

'How?' The question came in spite of herself.

'_In dreams.'_

The illusion immediately fell away. Mally felt disgusted with herself, with her own dreams. She gripped her hatpin sword tighter, raising it above her head as her stomach flipped at the image on the glass. The Looking-Glass Hatter drew the Looking-Glass Mally to him, dipping his head down to hers. Mally stabbed the glass with all her strength a second before their lips met, shattering the image as a high, wailing scream rent the air.

* * *

_It had all started off so innocently. It was one of those perfect, utterly golden afternoons, when everything was bathed in liquid sunlight; the breeze was gentle and cool, and the sky impossibly blue. It was an afternoon that begged to be spent with Alice. And as if she had somehow known, Alice had arrived at noon. And for once Tarrant had met her halfway, turning the corner whilst strolling in the gardens near the Round Hall door. They had bumped into one another, him too busy fiddling and thinking and she too busy drinking in her Wonderland to look where they were going. She stumbled back in surprise, and he caught her elbow to steady her, hardly able to believe their good fortune._

'_Alice!'_

_When she looked up and saw who it was her brown eyes lit up with joy, making his heart soar._

'_Tarrant!' She threw her arms around him in a hug, and as always he laughed and wrapped his arms around her, feeling full enough with happiness to beg her to never leave again._

'_Alice, you'll never believe how glad I am to see you,' he gushed as soon as she released him, keeping her hands on his arms, 'it's a splendid day and I couldn't bear it if we missed it, what with you being Up Top and all; I thought it was a day we simply had to spend together, and days can't spend themselves, you know, or at least I suppose they must feel terribly lonely when they have to.'_

_Alice laughed, 'Is that why you're waiting here?'_

'_Perhaps,' he smiled, offering her his arm. 'Shall we?'_

'_I don't see why we shouldn't,' she said as she took it, 'my mother isn't here, after all.'_

'_She wouldn't approve of me, then?'_

_Alice fell silent for a moment, her grin slipping, 'She doesn't approve of anything much.'_

_He watched her silently, wondering if she was going to elaborate, but she seemed to shake her gloom off and looked up at him happily once more as they began to walk towards the woods, chattering together about how everyone in Underland was doing._

_They were halfway to the Tea Party Clearing when Tarrant stopped them, hesitating._

'_Hatter?' said Alice in concern. 'Is something wrong?'_

'_Wrong? No, no, I …' He peered down at her, trying to find the words. 'I just thought … it's such a lovely day, and we never seem to … well, we never seem to do anything together anymore.'_

'_Together?'_

'_Just … Just you and me.'_

_Her face fell, and immediately he felt guilty for wanting her company all to himself._

'_I'm sorry,' she said, her hand fiddling with his sleeve, 'it's my fault. I don't come down as much as I used to, I haven't the time and –'_

'_Haven't the time for old friends?' he joked shakily._

_She seemed to see the hurt behind the jest and squeezed his arm reassuringly, 'I'll always have time for you, Tarrant. It's not my own choice, Mother keeps scheduling these pointless meetings with … well, it doesn't matter. The point is that I can't come down so much and when I do come down I haven't seen you all in so long that I can't help but see all of you.'_

'_It's not your fault, Alice.'_

'_It is, Tarrant, and it's not that I don't want to spend time with you – just you and me, because believe me, I do,' she said earnestly, meeting his gaze._

'_What's stopping us then?' he said, feeling a grin spreading across his face. 'We can sneak away from the others just this once, can't we?'_

_Alice grinned back, gripping his arm tighter as they began to walk again, 'I don't see why not. It shall be our day, just for you and me. What should we do?'_

_He had considered this already._

'_I saw Shifting Lake this morning,' he said, 'it looked particularly inviting.'_

'_I am not swimming in Shifting Lake,' said Alice seriously, though her smile was full of humour, 'so you can forget about that.'_

'_I wasn't suggesting swimming in the Lake, particularly not after our unfortunate meeting with the giant tentacled crab last time,' he said with a grimace, 'I don't know what we'd do without Mally and her impressive ability to take eyes out. No, I rather meant that I saw a little row boat on the Lake this morning, and we've never gone boating before, if I recall correctly.'_

_This idea seemed to be much more likeable._

'_A boating trip? Really?' said Alice with delight. 'Shall we take a picnic?'_

'_An excellent idea; we can sneak into Thackery's old house –'_

_Alice rolled her eyes, 'It's your house now, Tarrant, when will you get your head around it?'_

'_It will always be Thackery's old house to me.'_

'_Why not renovate it?'_

_He glanced at her in surprise._

'_I've no reason to renovate it.'_

'_You live in it.'_

'_Not for most of the time.'_

_It was Alice's turn to be surprised._

'_Where do you sleep?'_

'_In my armchair,' he replied._

'_In the Clearing? You sleep at the tea table?' she said in disbelief. 'Hatter, that can't be good for you.'_

'_That's what Mallymkun says.'_

'_Mallymkun's right.' Alice tried to peer into his face as they walked, her expression worried. 'Why do you sleep out there?'_

_The Hatter hesitated slightly before answering, 'I'd hate it if you came to visit and I missed you.'_

_He didn't look at her, afraid of what he might see in her expression now._

'_I would never come and not see you, Tarrant,' she said. When he finally looked at her she had turned her head away. Then he saw her smile. 'Even if I had to barge right into your bedroom and clang two teapots together to wake you up just so I could say hello and get my hug.' She looked back at him, her cheeks faintly pink, 'I'm afraid I would act quite selfish when it came to you.'_

'_Well, here I am right now, being selfish when it comes to you,' said Tarrant cheerfully, 'so we're even.'_

'_I suppose we are quite selfish when it comes to each other,' she said thoughtfully._

_They continued through the forest and crept into Thackery's old house in the clearing, filling a basket with cream cakes, scones, jam, blue lemonade, and cucumber sandwiches._

'_You and your cucumber sandwiches,' said Alice fondly, nudging playfully at his arm as he packed a liberal amount._

'_You can never have too many cucumber sandwiches,' he said wisely, shutting the lid on the basket and picking it up to set off. 'I think that should do it.'_

_Alice was trying to stifle laughter when he turned to her._

'_What have I done to amuse you, dear?' he said with a smile, the endearment slipping off his tongue before he could stop himself. Luckily, Alice didn't seem to notice._

'_It's nothing you've done,' said Alice, 'in fact I don't believe you'd ever do something so stupid … you just reminded me of something Mr Locksley did.'_

'_Mr Locksley?' echoed Tarrant, his stomach clenching uncomfortably._

'_Oh, one of Mother's fools,' sighed Alice tiredly as they walked. 'He dipped his cucumber sandwich in his tea, and dropped it, and then he tried to fish it out again surreptitiously with a jam biscuit. And then he ate the soggy sandwich bit and the biscuit, all in one go,' she added with disgust. 'As if I could ever marry such a character! Imagine having breakfast with him fishing his toast out of his morning tea every morning for the rest of my life!'_

'_Marry?' said Tarrant faintly. 'You're … you're getting married?'_

'_Not to him certainly,' said Alice decidedly. When she saw that he was looking at her in confusion, she explained, 'Mother still keeps trotting out man after man, trying to marry me off.'_

'_Oh,' he said, a hollow feeling in his chest._

'_We had another argument about it last week,' she said, a little crease appearing between her brows, 'she wants me to start trying to find a husband – to "seriously attempt to pursue marital happiness".'_

'_And what did you say?'_

'_I told her the truth,' said Alice, taking the basket for a turn at carrying it, despite the Hatter's protests, 'that I'm not ready to get married yet and probably never will be. I want to marry for love. Like my parents. No matter how rich or poor or eligible he is.'_

_The Hatter opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when Alice cried out in sudden delight._

'_Oh, Tarrant, it's beautiful!'_

_They had reached the top of the hill, and Shifting Lake was spread out below them, the breeze teasing little waves upon its surface to glint in the sunlight. Tarrant saw with relief that the little row boat was still there, bobbing at the shoreline on a rope. The sight seemed to be too much for Alice wait for, and she took off down the hill before he could stop her._

'_Alice! Alice, wait!'_

_He chased her down the hill, watching as her long hair bounced wildly behind her, catching the sun. She looked back at him, laughing, and, predictably, she tripped at the bottom and he went into a dive to stop her, sending them both to the ground._

'_Are you alright?' he laughed, slightly breathless as she grinned down at him from where she was sprawled nearly on top of him._

'_More than alright,' she said, just as giggly as he was, 'we have to do this more often.'_

'_Alice,' he said, mock reproving, 'are you suggesting that we make a habit of running down hills and falling over?'_

'_No,' she smiled, meeting his eyes, 'I mean this. Just us.'_

_He smiled back at her, chuckling when she suddenly shot up, crying out about the basket and worrying that it had upended and everything had spilled out._

_He sat up while she scrambled about for the basket, setting his hat back on his head as she declared everything to be intact._

'_Shall we go then, my lady?' he said, helping her and the basket up._

'_We shall, kind sir,' she said with another grin, stepping into the boat carefully, followed by the Hatter._

_The boat proved to be small and perhaps slightly cramped, but still comfortable, and they took turns rowing out to the centre of the Lake, swapping stories as per usual._

'_I have one,' said Alice, '"there was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Perhaps she'll die."'_

'_Gruesome and short,' nodded the Hatter with amusement. 'Not your best, Alice.'_

'_Alright, then,' she said, accepting the challenge with a bright gaze. 'There once lived a man whose eyes could change colour. He was loyal, and brave, and much muchier than any other man you could find.'_

'_Much muchier?'_

'_Oh, much muchier,' said Alice, 'in fact, if it weren't for this man, I don't think I'd have any faith in the muchness of men at all. There are only three completely honourable men I have known: my father, Lord Astley, and you. The rest seem only to lie and strut and puff themselves up like peacocks and snob and _cheat_,' she said in a heated outburst, glaring out into the water._

_Tarrant pulled the oars in, letting the boat drift as it pleased._

'_Lowell, again?' he said gently._

'_Margaret doesn't even see it!' cried Alice, throwing her hands in the air, 'I've tried to explain it to her and she just refuses to admit … Why would I ever want to get married with that as an example?'_

'_Not all marriages are like that.'_

'_He's horrible. He doesn't deserve her.' She wrung her hands in her lap, and looked at him with anguished eyes that made him want to put his arms around her in comfort. 'What if I did get married to someone I thought I loved, and it turned out like that? I don't know what to do to help her.'_

_Tarrant looked at her, so full of desperation and worry and dread, and took her hand; covering it with his own._

'_Alice, when you marry, it will be for love, remember?'_

_She was searching his face for something._

'_What if I really believed I loved him, when we married,' she said, her voice dropping nearly to a whisper, 'but then things changed? What if he wasn't there? What if I was always away? With the company, I mean,' she added, suddenly seeming self-conscious._

'_I …' Talking about this hypothetical man, who Alice would one day love, pained Tarrant. 'Sometimes you just have to trust people.'_

_Her hand slipped out of his and fell to her side._

'_And little Edith,' said Alice sadly, 'sometimes I wonder if she's noticed. She picks up more than people give her credit for. She sees things and she remembers them. Granted, sometimes that leads to her holding a grudge against a girl who she remembers stole a pencil from her when she was five.'_

'_How old is she now?'_

'_Seven going on eight,' she replied with a smile, 'and still refusing to be trained like a puppy. Apparently I'm a bad influence on her.'_

'_I'm glad to hear it,' he chuckled, pulling the luncheon basket out from under his seat. 'Sandwich? They're a bit squashed, I'm afraid, from our tumble.'_

'_As long as they're not drenched in tea,' Alice giggled, taking one._

'_There's nothing wrong with being drenched in tea.'_

'_This from someone who is used to being drenched in tea on a regular basis,' she smirked._

'_We all have our little habits, Alice. In Thackery's case violent ones.'_

_Alice was busy savouring the cucumber sandwich._

'_Is there a cream cake near the top of the basket?' she said, leaning in to peep at its contents from her seat. 'We should have packed tea.'_

'_It sounds like someone skipped lunch again before they came,' he teased as he handed her a vanilla slice._

'_I only just got off the boat,' she said, wolfing down the rest of the sandwich quarter before taking the slice, 'I couldn't resist coming straight here. You couldn't get the rabbit hole to follow me to China by any chance?' she joked._

'_You've been to China again?'_

'_Third time now,' she said with another eye roll, 'and I still haven't had the time or money to go anywhere but the street where I stay and the street where I do business. China to me consists of two poky streets crammed with sweaty people bellowing about the wares they sell.'_

'_Perhaps you could schedule a longer trip?' suggested Tarrant as he helped himself to another cucumber sandwich quarter._

_Alice shook her head, annoyed, 'I've asked. The company thinks seeing the sights is a waste of money. I've never met more narrow-minded people in all my life; they pretend to listen to what I say but barely take it into account, simply on the basis of my being a woman. And now that Lord Ascot has retired from the whole cursed business they don't even have to pretend to respect me …' she trailed off, eating her cake in silence, eyes downcast. 'I feel like I've put so much effort into the company and now they don't even need me anymore,' she sighed._

_They ate in silence for a few moments more, until Alice finished her cake, taking glee in licking the cream off her fingers._

'_Mother never lets me do that,' she snickered when she saw the Hatter's amused look. 'It's always, "wipe them on your napkin, you silly girl, act your age".'_

'_I've always thought it very unfair for people not to have their share of amusement just because they've grown older,' said Tarrant, looking out over the water with a half smile._

'_You think me very much older, then?'_

_He looked back at her. There was a sad sort of worry in her countenance that made him regret his words._

'_You're only thirty, Alice,' he said gently, 'still younger than me.'_

_She frowned slightly._

'_Not much younger than you.'_

'_Still young all the same. Your mother makes you feel old, I think. All this talk of marrying you off before you become completely infirm.'_

_Alice laughed at that, and he felt a surge of satisfaction at being able to restore the sparkle to her eyes, but still an air of the sadness lingered._

'_You know, sometimes I wish I had taken your offer all those years ago.'_

'_Offer?'_

'_To stay.' Her eyes met his with a steady gaze._

_There was a pause as they looked at each other, and Tarrant said lowly, 'You still could stay.'_

_For a moment Alice looked ready to cry, and her hand went out as if to reach for his._

'_I wish …' She stopped herself, withdrawing the hand before Tarrant could move his to meet it. 'I can't.' She broke their gaze to shake her head, looking away._

_Even as his heart stung, he leaned forward in an endeavour to catch her eye once more, saying in a voice as sincere as he could muster, 'Whenever you're ready, Alice, I'll be here.'_

_Finally she met his eyes again, and he was startled to see hers full of tears._

'_I hate to do this to you,' she said._

'_Alice,' he said with alarm, 'I don't mind waiting if it means I can see you.'_

'_I wish I could stay,' Alice said, pressing her hand against his, 'sometimes I want to more than anything.'_

_He stared at her._

'_Then why don't you?' he said._

'_I couldn't just disappear. I couldn't do that to my family.'_

'_You have family here –' Tarrant began, but stopped himself._

_There was small silence, broken by the gentle waves tickling the sides of the bow, rocking them slightly._

'_Can we talk about something else?' said Alice with a weak laugh, clinging tighter to his hand._

'_Of course,' the Hatter smiled. 'Come, no more tears.'_

_She laughed thickly again, wiping at them with her free hand._

'_This is our day,' she said, 'let's make it last.'_

_Right on cue, something caught Alice's eye that made her delighted smile return._

'_Oh, look! Scented rushes!' She pointed behind Tarrant to the clumps of rushes growing in the water at the edge of the lake. 'Please, Tarrant, let's pick some! We can put some in a vase and set them on the tea table. And I can take some home for Edith. I've never brought her anything from here before, she'd love it!'_

_The Hatter obligingly rowed the boat into the midst of the rushes, tucking the oars back inside the boat so that Alice could prepare to lean over the side._

'_I'll have to break them off well under the water,' she said as she rolled up the sleeves of her dress, 'I only hope the boat doesn't turn over.'_

_Tarrant tried not to think about the crab swimming amongst the reeds below, ready to snap off Alice's arms the moment she plunged them in. Alice turned to him before she began, much more cheerful now._

'_Now,' she said very seriously, though her eyes sparkled with a playfulness that made his stomach do back-flips, 'you mustn't let me fall in, sir. If I look like I might fall, be sure to grab me and pull me back. Otherwise I will pull you in after me.'_

'_On my honour, my lady,' he nodded with a grin._

_With that she leant carefully over the side of the boat, seizing the rushes below the water and pulling them back into the boat with her. Her long, curling hair dipped into the water, and the scent of the rushes soon filled the boat._

_Tarrant watched her carefully, ready to fulfil his assigned duty and pull her back if necessary, but she seemed well balanced. She was now stretching for a particularly pretty bunch of rushes, lamenting that the prettiest ones were forever out of her reach._

'_I think the Lake is Shifting just to taunt me,' she panted, almost rocking the boat with her latest attempt at reaching a reed._

'_Shall I try?' he said, and she nodded, relenting and folding back into the boat. Tarrant set aside his hat and jacket and rolled up his sleeves._

_She pointed to the desired bunch of rushes and he leaned past her to stretch out for them, absolutely determined that he would fetch them for her if he had to shed his shoes and dive in for them._

'_Do be careful, Tarrant,' he heard her say anxiously._

_His fingers just managed to brush the reed above the level of the water._

'_I think I can reach it!' Even as he said the words the boat rocked a little._

'_Tarrant, maybe we have enough –'_

'_No, I can reach it, I'm absolutely certain. I will get them, Alice –'_

'_Hatter –' she gasped behind him as the boat rocked again._

'_Nearly there …'_

'_I think –'_

_Tarrant made a bid for the rushes, nearly launching himself out of the boat, which rocked so violently that if Alice hadn't been leaning heavily on the opposite side, they surely would have tippled over. He felt his hand close around the rush._

'_Got it!'_

'_TARRANT!'_

_A pair of arms seized him around the waist and pulled him back into the boat._

_He and Alice fell back, rocking the boat further. They froze completely, huddled closely together on the floor of the boat. In a moment it steadied, and they began to laugh. Tarrant felt his heart racing, pushed to beat faster when he saw Alice's face close to his, split into a smile that radiated warmth. She wove her arm through his, burying her face in his shoulder, her hair sweet-smelling and damp through the cloth of his shirt._

'_I think – I think we have enough rushes now,' she laughed breathlessly into his shoulder._

'_P-perhaps so,' he said faintly, giddy on a strange, swooping high he never wanted to come down from._

'_Are you alright?' she said, craning her head back to look at him._

'_I'm fine,' he croaked._

_Her laugh at the familiar phrase died away as she gazed at him, utter contentment filling her brown eyes. For some time they said nothing, exchanging only each other's happy smile._

'_I got it,' Tarrant said, remembering and pulling out the reed. 'Oh.' It was slightly squashed now, but she took it all the same._

'_Thank you, dear,' she said sweetly, shooting him another dazzling smile before starting to get to her feet._

She did notice then_, he thought to himself with another flip of the stomach._

'_Need a hand?'_

_He took the one she offered and she pulled him to his feet with enough gusto to startle the boat and knock them into each other._

'_Perhaps we should sit down again,' he suggested with amusement, holding her steady._

'_Perhaps,' she agreed, and he, (somewhat reluctantly), released her and took his seat opposite her in the boat._

_Alice took up the oars this time, and Tarrant returned his hat to its rightful place atop his head, lying his jacket across the seat next to him. It was only when he looked back to Alice that he noticed the remnants of a deep blush on her cheeks. He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed to be determinedly avoiding his gaze, rowing in a very busy and concentrated fashion. He was just about to question her when something ahead sparked his interest._

'_I do believe there's a gazebo ahead,' he remarked with pleasant surprise. 'It seems the Lake has decided to make up for its games with the rushes.'_

_The sight of the pretty little gazebo, mounted on a small island, had a strange effect on Alice. She paused in her rowing to glance at it and frowned vaguely before turning her back on it._

'_Not your type of gazebo?' he said._

_She finally made eye contact with him with a start, as if she'd momentarily forgotten where she was._

'_I've had bad experiences concerning gazebos,' she said, then reddened even further as she looked at him._

_Tarrant quirked an eyebrow at her._

'_Nothing,' she mumbled, avoiding his gaze._

'_Shall we stay in the boat then?'_

_Alice's reply was to row energetically nearly all the way to opposite end of the Lake, which was no small feat._

'_Alice,' said the Hatter, trying to catch onto one of the oars to stop her, 'Alice, I think you've rowed far enough now.'_

_Abruptly she stopped, dropping the oars into the boat, which slid forwards a short distance still under the force of Alice's last push._

_The lady was silent, looking down at her lap._

'_What in all Underland is so terrible about gazebos, Alice?' he asked in bewilderment._

_She remained quiet, still highly coloured._

_Tarrant sat back in the uncomfortable silence, wondering if he should take up the oars._

'_Sorry,' said Alice suddenly, startling him._

'_That's alright,' he said, still confused._

_She sighed and seemed to relax, unwinding. The silence became slowly more natural and less awkward._

_After some time Alice leant__ back, closing her eyes and breathing in. The sun made her golden hair and pale skin glow, and a soft smile danced across her lips._

_Her voice was gentle and playful as she said, 'Tell me a story?'_

'_Once upon a time,' he began, leaning back himself but not closing his eyes, 'there was a young woman with long blonde hair, who was full of muchness.'_

_Alice laughed, but didn't say anything._

'_She lived two lives in two different worlds. One in a world above, where she had a family who loved her, and job she had worked hard for; and one in a world below where she had many great adventures in a fantastical place named Wonderland. Sometimes she would wonder if Wonderland was a dream, but she knew she would have to be half mad to dream it up._

'_She would travel back and forth between her two worlds, exploring both of them. Although no time passed for her in the world above, in the world below time was felt by the friends who missed her.'_

_The old sadness came back into Alice's smile, and Tarrant hurried on._

'_But her friends waited for her. One in particular.'_

_Her smile brightened, 'Tell me about him.'_

'_Well, he was rabbit,' Tarrant said, just to tease her._

_Alice snickered and kicked his shoe playfully._

'_No, he wasn't.'_

'_Are you saying you know more about my story than I do?'_

'_No, I'm sorry,' she laughed, then sobered to a little smirk, 'I'll be quiet.'_

'_So this young woman's friend had known her for many years, since she was very small.'_

'_And while she kept coming back older and older, he stayed the same age,' Alice cut in, her voice anxious and sad again._

_Tarrant sighed._

'_I believe we've had this conversation already.'_

'_I can't help but –'_

'_The woman didn't realise how young she was.'_

'_The woman had very real worries,' retorted Alice._

'_And she didn't realise that she would never really grow old. Not to him,' he said softly._

_Alice opened her eyes. She sat up slowly._

'_That doesn't – didn't change the fact that one day she would visit and she wouldn't be able to run around with him anymore. She wouldn't be able to climb trees and have adventures. Or go on boating trips,' she said, brown eyes unbearably sad._

_Every word felt like a tiny dagger to the heart, and Tarrant moved to sit next her, gripping her hand._

'_But he would wait for her,' he said, squeezing the hand he held. 'He would wait for her until she decided to stay with him. In a way he'd been waiting for her since she was nineteen.'_

'_Waiting? Do you mean …?'_

'_He didn't want to grow up if it couldn't be with her,' he said, his mouth dry with self-consciousness. 'So he waited for years, hoping and wishing that one day his friend would stay; worrying that she would forget him, or that she would lose interest with her Wonderland. Worrying that she would marry.' He could hardly believe the words flowing from his own mouth; Alice was staring at him with a strange expression but he couldn't stop now. 'And sometimes he worried so much he felt sick; sometimes the need to see her again hurt like a physical pain –'_

_The boat bumped to a halt against the shoreline._

'_Hatter –'_

'_But he couldn't do anything but wait, and hope that maybe she felt the same way, and the way he felt was – well, sometimes it was painful but sometimes it was – it was wonderful; because he liked – cared about – _He loved her_ –'_

'_Hatter, I have to go.'_

'_Fez?' Oh, he hated himself sometimes. He resisted the urge to slap himself in the face and concentrated._

_He had never seen Alice look so anguished. She was as pale as death, eyes fixed on his face. She seemed utterly torn._

'_I should go,' she said, but didn't move. _

_Tarrant let go of her hand, feeling something inside his chest slowly withering and crumbling._

'_I would leave the company in a second,' she said after a moment, 'and I would leave my world. But I couldn't leave them.'_

'_You could visit them,' he said, 'time doesn't pass there. It passes here.' He struggled not to add, "it's not _fair_."_

'_How could I …? I'd pass months away down here and then go back to find things the same as the day I arrived,' she said wretchedly, twisting her hands in her lap, 'I'd always be out of step with them.'_

_Tarrant didn't know what to say. It was the closest he'd ever come to telling Alice how he felt. And she was horrified._

'_I … I'm confusing at the best of times, I know,' he said carefully. 'Did you understand what I meant, when I said …?'_

'_I think so,' said Alice in a dazed voice, as if it were something she still couldn't quite comprehend._

'_You seem shocked.'_

'_I am, I suppose.'_

'_I thought it was obvious,' he said quietly. His heart was aching something dreadfully now; every inch of it felt shot through with a strange, nearly indescribable pain. He stood, stepping off the boat with the intention of returning home to bury himself in a flurry of hat-making, where mercury and needles were the only things that could prick and sting him. _'I'm sorry the way I feel_ – the way I've felt,' he said with forced calmness, slipping back out of the brogue, 'for these eleven years, is so … disgusting to you.'_

_Without looking at her he offered his hand to help her out of the boat, and was dully surprised when she took it._

'_It's not disgusting,' said Alice in such a voice that he knew now she was crying, and he hated himself even more._

'_It offends you,' he said, about to withdraw his hand. She suddenly gripped it with something close to desperation._

'_Tarrant, it's not like that; I didn't know – sometimes I did think maybe … but I was never certain, sometimes you treated me just as you treated everyone else – with kindness and affection – and I could talk myself into believing you didn't think of me that –' she stopped herself and took a breath before continuing, her voice wavering with emotion, 'Please, look at me.'_

_He did, lifting his eyes up from his shoes. Tears were flowing thick and fast down her face, and she seemed to be fighting some inner battle with herself. Both her hands were closed around his._

'_It's not just a question of – It's not that I … Because –' again she stopped herself, looking straight into his eyes and pleading with him to understand. 'You have to understand, my mother, and my sister … my niece – Edith, sometimes I'm scared I'll go back to the Overland and she'll be all grown up and I'll have missed it. They're the only blood family I have. And I love them, Tarrant.'_

_And suddenly Tarrant felt the most ridiculous stab of jealousy. He pulled his hand out from between hers, stepping back away from her. He was being childish, he knew. But he couldn't help it._

'_Didn't you love your family?' she said softly, breaching what she knew was a taboo subject with him. But he was too numb with pain to hurt any further._

'_Yes,' he said, 'but I love you too. It is possible to love more than one thing at once.'_

'_I know,' she said, almost flinching as he spoke._

'_But you're saying you love them but not me.'_

'_I –' She seemed to struggle internally with something once more, before stepping closer again, holding his gaze with streaming eyes. 'You're my dearest friend,' she said forcedly, 'my dearest friend in either world.'_

'_Your friend,' Tarrant echoed, feeling his poor heart hurting enough to make his head spin with the words. 'I couldn't ever be …?' He looked down at his shoes again, regretting ever taking her on this silly little excursion, for daring to open his mouth at all, for even risking the friendship they had. 'I – I'm so foolish, Alice – I've ruined everything – you're going to hate me, I'm so sorry –'_

_Two warm hands cupped his face gently, silencing him immediately._

'_Don't be sorry, Hatter,' she said calmly, while her eyes cried. 'There's nothing to be sorry for.'_

'_But –'_

'_Please, Tarrant,' she begged, the crying eyes looking straight into his, 'please, don't make me choose. I can't leave them. Not yet.'_

_He nodded, swallowing, as her hands slipped from his face and sought his own hands, entwining them together. Then Alice surprised him by leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. The spot tingled as she stepped away, the smell of her hair still lingering around him and the dampness from her tears on his cheek._

'_I'll be back soon,' she promised, smiling her soft smile. 'There are some things I need to think about, but I'll be back.'_

'_I'll wait for you,' he said, trying to smile back._

'_Fairfarren, Tarrant.' She turned away, walking back to the Gardens._

'_Fairfarren, Alice,' he whispered, his cheek still tingling._

* * *

Tarrant woke from the memory to find himself lying on something cold and hard in the darkness. He slowly rose to a sitting position, feeling around for his hat automatically. And it was just as he remembered that it had been knocked off outside the Round Hall that he saw Alice lying not two feet away from him, pale as moonlight in their shadowy surroundings.

For a moment he was paralysed with shock, then sprang to his feet and hurried to her side.

'Alice.'

Her eyes were shut; her skin sickly and pale. She was lying quite neatly, her blue skirt fanned out and her hands carefully folded over her chest. It reminded him with a chill of a corpse in a coffin, and he hastened to move her hands gently, checking her pulse on one wrist. It was faint but steady, like a drumbeat sounding from far off, and he let out half the breath he had been holding in. She seemed to be sleeping.

'Alice, de –' he bit off the endearment when he remembered with a pang that he had no right to use it. 'Miss Kingsleigh,' he said, then felt silly. _She would have laughed to hear me call her that_. 'Alice,' he whispered, 'Alice, wake up.'

She didn't stir, and he didn't know exactly why he was whispering. There was no one there but the shadows, him, Alice, and young Edith.

His head swiveled around again in a double take.

'Edith?'

The girl was curled upon herself in a foetal position, surrounded by a thick, swirling layer of shadows. She was barely visible inside it – it almost looked like a grey egg. It was pulsing slightly, like a leech feeding off its prey.

'Edith,' said the Hatter, louder this time, 'can you hear me?'

The niece seemed to mutter, twitching her head. Tentatively the Hatter jabbed at the shadows with a finger; they bulged and twisted, squirming away from him.

'Get off her,' he said, shooing them away, all the while with the growing impression that these weren't shadows that would take kindly to be shooed. These were the type of shadows that would remember, and plot revenge. 'Go on, leave her alone. She can't have that much misery to feed off, she's only a child.'

The shadows cleared off, dissipating like fog and leaving behind a shivering and pale Edith, clasping her knees to her chest.

'Are you alright?'

The girl didn't respond, her eyes clenched shut and her mouth forming low, muttering words.

'Come on, Edith,' he coaxed, untwisting her hands and pulling her into a sitting position, 'you're awake now.'

At the words her eyes suddenly snapped open, black and huge and frightened. She fell forwards, grabbing his jacket to stay upright.

'Edith?' he said uncertainly, straining his ears to catch her mumbled words.

'I'm dead – dead and dreaming, it's just a dream, it's not a dream – I'm dead, I drowned, I must be …'

'What are you talking about?'

'I don't know … Can you still dream after you die?' Her gaze wandered, unfocused, and an icy coldness radiated off her.

'Edith, I found Alice.'

She looked back to him, and said with anxiousness, 'Is she alive?'

'Yes.'

She choked and released him, burying her face in hands, shaking with relief. An odd, strangled noise began, and it took a moment for Tarrant to realise that Edith was crying.

'Hush,' he said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. The girl sobbed harder, and he hesitated before pulling her to her feet and guiding her over to where Alice lay. 'Come and see her. She's fine.'

She looked at Alice, hiccupping, and crouched beside her, reaching a hand out to touch the woman's sleeping face. Then her own face crumpled and she began to cry once more, curling into a ball and hiding in her nightgown.

'But she's alive!' said the Hatter, alarmed. He squatted down beside her, 'We did it; we found Alice, and she's alive.'

'My mother's dead,' Edith blurted, her face in her nightgown, muffling the words, 'she died three weeks ago, before I even got here. She's been dead all this time and …' the rest dissolved into sobs that shook her body.

'But how could you possibly know that?'

'They told me. And I – I know it's true … I know it …'

'Who told you?'

Edith raised a tear-stained face, and the Hatter felt a jolt of pity at how vulnerable she looked.

'The voices from the looking glass,' she said.

* * *

Alice drifted, wrapped in layer upon downy layer of dreams and memories and dream-memories. She was being carried by song – musical notes floating in a golden haze around her.

'_Alice, dear, where have you been?'_ sang the voices; chiming, lilting notes in harmony. _'So near, so far, or in between?'_

There was no need to speak or to even think, only to drift. Nothing existed beyond the hazy sunlit sphere she was woven tightly into. The voices spun threads around her as they sang, cocooning her in gold.

'_Alice ... Alice ...'_

She was sitting on the floor of a drawing room.

_My drawing room,_ she thought. _At home._

But it was a home from her childhood, from long ago, before a family of three had become a family of two and their house had stopped feeling so much like a home. Before they had moved away, away from the memories of happiness that haunted every nook and cranny.

She sat at a low coffee table of expensive-looking dark wood, leaning back against the crimson armchair behind her. A fire was burning merrily in the grate next to her, filling the room with warmth. There was a chess set sitting on the coffee table, the pieces stationed ready for a game. Alice reached out and picked up the red queen piece and then the white queen piece, gazing at them with distant half-interest.

Something leapt into her lap, and Alice dropped the two pieces onto the board with a clatter of surprise. The thing mewed, and her hand automatically went to stroke its fur.

'Hello, Dinah. You frightened me.'

Dinah mewed and licked her hand with a little pink tongue.

'Where are Black and White?'

Perhaps hearing their names the two kittens trotted in, the black one rubbing its face against the floor in annoyance, trying to shake off the bell tied around its neck.

'Now, Black,' scolded Alice, picking it up and frowning at it, 'how many times must we tell you to leave your bell alone? Naughty creature.' She tapped it gently on the nose, only meaning to reprimand it. It bit her.

Alice gasped, withdrawing her hand. A droplet of blood hit the cream carpet. Mother would not be pleased.

'Black! My, what sharp teeth you have.'

She picked up the white kitten instead. It was the more obedient of the two, and soon curled up in her arms, purring contentedly. Alice fiddled with the white knight piece with one hand, nursing White in the other arm.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond the drawing room.

'Alice?'

She sat up straighter as her mother entered the room. Alice was frightened to notice tear tracks on her cheeks.

'What's happened?' she said, her voice sounding somehow muffled, as though her ears were suddenly blocked. Dread flipped her stomach over. 'Is it Father? Has he gotten worse?'

'Alice ...' Mother's eyes were brimming over with fresh tears.

Everything went dead. There was no sound. The world blurred together, a haze of crimson and dark wood panelling and chess pieces. Numbly she felt White stir restlessly in her arms, as if the kitten had been the only one other her to realise that the bottom had just dropped out of the world.

'Is there time for me to see him?' she heard herself say, fighting to keep the words steady. Her cheeks were wet.

Mother nodded, her own tears spilling over.

'Hurry.'

Alice stood so fast that White was startled out of her grasp. The kitten leapt onto the table with a reproachful yelp, scattering the chess pieces everywhere; they rolled off the table and into the hearth, some licked by flames and others remaining on the chess board like the corpses of some great massacre.

Alice left the room, the white knight piece still clenched in one hand so hard it hurt.

The door from the drawing room led deep into the forest. The voices led her deeper still, into shadows. Somewhere in the distance a man was singing.

'_I have not seen thy sunny face,_

_Nor heard thy silver laughter,_

_No thought of me shall find a place,_

_In thy young life's hereafter ...'_

The voice was dimming, fading slowly.

'Wait!' cried Alice, picking up her skirts and running through the forest after the voice, stumbling over the uneven ground in the dim light. 'Wait, please! I have to tell you – oh!' A root tripped her and she went sprawling onto the ground.

'_Enough that now thou wilt not fail,_

_To listen to my fairytale ...'_ The voice was nearer now; she had gained on him. Alice climbed to her feet again, catching a glimpse of white moving amongst the closely-growing trees.

'Mr Rabbit?' she called. 'Mr Rabbit, wait!'

She gave chase, and soon a figure was visible between the gaps in the trees ahead. It wasn't a rabbit.

The White Knight turned to look at her as she approached him, slowing down.

'Alice?'

'Father,' she panted, leaning on her knees crossly, 'why did you make me run after you?'

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting and familiar.

'Alice, you know that to stay in the same place you have to run as fast as you can, and twice as fast as that if you actually want to get anywhere.'

She smiled dryly, straightening and crossing her arms.

'What were you singing?' she asked out of curiosity.

'You would have to ask him,' said the White Knight, with an infuriatingly knowing smile that refused to share any secrets, 'he was the one singing it.'

'Where can I find him?'

'You're wearing your mother's necklace,' observed the White Knight, as if she hadn't asked the question.

She saw his gentle eyes through the gap in his helmet; brown as her own and full of sadness.

'She misses you,' she said.

'She misses you too, Alice.'

Alice felt her throat sting with regret.

'I know. I'm sorry, Father. I should be around more often.'

He smiled again, offering his arm.

'Come. I'll see you safely to the end of the wood.'

They walked in companionable silence until the trees thinned and the light streamed down in golden shafts. They reached the beginning of a road that wound far into the distance, and the White Knight stopped, turning to Alice.

'And here is where I leave you.'

Alice felt a flutter of panic, and held onto his arm.

'No, please, don't. I still have all this way to go.'

'I would if I could, Alice,' he said with shining eyes, 'but you can walk by yourself now.'

He disentangled himself from her, and reluctantly she let him go. 'Will you see me off?'

Alice nodded, swallowing, 'Of course.'

The White Knight pressed her hand, the bright eyes filling with immeasurable pride.

'Wonderland's Champion. Partner in the company. You've been there when I couldn't, Alice. But you have to live your own life now, not the one I left unfinished.'

His hands slipped from hers and she watched, speechless and powerless as he slowly faded away.

When there was nothing before her but the sunshine and the clean air, Alice turned away and began the long walk alone, her tears tickling her cheeks.

'Where are you?' she called to him. 'Father said you were singing.'

'A true saganistute,' the man's voice whispered on the wind.

'That's Outlandish, isn't it?'

There was no reply.

Alice soon came upon a vendor with a brightly coloured stall, hung with flags and bells. When the vendor saw her he dashed forward, the bells sewn into his clothes jingling like a Christmas sleigh.

'I see you are admiring my stall,' he said with a swooping bow. 'It's the best in the market, you know, all my customers say so.'

'Where is the market?' asked Alice, interested.

He became irritable at that, straightening as stiff as bamboo pole and frowning down at her.

'Here, of course, you stupid girl,' he snapped.

Alice was understandably taken aback and insulted, and it must have shown clearly on her face, because the vendor immediately fell over himself trying to make amends.

'Beggin' your pardon, miss,' he said more congenially with a tip of his bowler hat, 'I only meanta' say that the market's right 'ere and all 'round, you see. Only thing is I 'appen to be the only stall at the present time.'

'Where all the other stalls?' said Alice, puzzled.

'Ach,' said the vendor, scratching his head, 'they be on the beach, by the Red Sea. Ye cannae argue the logic of it with 'em.'

'The logic? Whatever do you mean?'

He cleared his throat and looked so stern that Alice took a step back.

'Young lady. Are you intending to purchase any of my wares at all?'

Alice thought it would be best to at least politely look over some of the things before making a hasty retreat. She bent over the table and inspected the array of jewellery, socks, hats, and beetles for some minutes before going to walk away.

'Oh, please, miss, do wait,' said the vendor fretfully, twisting his hands, 'I'm sure I can sell you something, really I can.'

'I'm afraid I don't have any money,' she said, pitying the poor shopkeeper.

'That doesn't matter a whit of it!' he said grandly. 'I shall prove my prowess as a vendor – I can sell something to you even when you have no money!'

She decided not to point out the faults in this argument.

'Look here, look here at this necklace, missus.'

'Oh, I already have one, thank you.'

'Hmm,' the vendor grunted, shooting the offending object a disgruntled look. 'This?' He jabbed a finger at a cockroach.

'No, thank you,' said Alice, who had been trying not to look at it.

The shopkeeper stared at intently for so long that Alice began to feel uncomfortable, then dived under the table with an overjoyed exclamation of: 'I know exactly what you want!'

Alice opened her mouth to bid him a good day and good bye, but he emerged with a circular box in his arms.

'This is what you want, Miss Kingsleigh,' he whispered, and with utmost care removed the lid for Alice to peer inside.

Inside the box was a top hat of dark green. A faded dark pink ribbon was tied around it, and many hatpins were stuck into it, clustering on the side. Something deep inside Alice cried out at the sight of it, and she put her hand out to trace the numbering on the paper pinned on one side.

10/6.

'That's the price,' said the voice of the shopkeeper, snapping Alice out of her daze. 'Would you like it?'

'Yes. Yes, please,' she said, still feeling light-headed.

The vendor stuck his hand out, 'Money, please!' he sang.

Alice stared at him.

'I told you, I haven't got any money. You said you could sell me something without taking money!' Her hand was still absently tracing the numbers, unwilling to break contact with the hat.

'And I wasn't gonna' show you this. Then you showed me your necklace,' said the vendor, raising an eyebrow. 'Come on, sweetie, you want it, you got the dough now.'

Alice gripped her necklace with her free hand.

'This was my mother's,' she said firmly, 'it's not for sale.'

'Neither is this. But we can cut a deal.'

'I'll come back with money,' said Alice, finally taking her hand away. The box was snapped shut, and she felt a pang of longing.

The vendor shook his head, 'It will be gone. Long gone. Necklace or hat, you choose, missy.'

'I can't! This is ridiculous, surely there's more than one option.'

The vendor stared at her, emotionless.

'Necklace or hat.'

'_So near, so far, or in between?'_

'_There's another option, Alice.'_

'_Alice, stay and be our Queen ...'_

'_Alice ... Alice ...'_

'Miss Kingsleigh?'

Alice turned at the sound of his voice.

'Where are you?' She was so confused, but she almost laughed. 'Since when have you called me "Miss Kingsleigh"? That's for stuffy lords and rich men, not for you, dear.'

'Alice ...'

'Where are you?'

'Miss Kingsleigh, do you need assistance?'

Alice looked up from the marble floor at the brown-haired man with the amiable smile.

'Mr Harrison?' He helped her to her feet, her head spinning slightly. 'What happened?'

'You fell,' he said.

'Yes, I ... gathered that.'

Mr Harrison blushed to the roots of his very brown hair.

'Well,' he said awkwardly, 'shall we continue dancing, then? Only the other couples are beginning to stare.'

Alice looked around. The other pairs of lobsters, turtles and whiting on the white marble dance floor were indeed staring at them, standing stationary as they were in the middle of the ballroom. Above a giant chandelier lit the golden chamber, making the dresses of the lobsters sparkle and the polished wood doors lining the room glow warmly.

A nearby couple nearly careened into Alice, and Mr Harrison seized her waist and pulled her into step with the other dancers, ignoring her protests. They began to dance a strange version of the quadrille, in which Alice attempted to escape and found herself twirled back into Mr Harrison's arms.

'Mr Harrison, please! I do not wish to dance!' With a small struggle she stamped on his foot and freed herself, running past the lobsters and turtles in the ballroom as they continued to dance, ignoring her completely.

Alice stopped at a seat in the furthest corner she could find, and sat down on it with the resolution not to move for the rest of the night until Mother stopped all this ridiculous business and came back with the carriage. She would not pull this trick on her again, no, she wouldn't.

She crossed her arms and watched the dancing women and men. It wasn't long before Felicia, the youngest Chataway girl, dropped into the seat next to her with that uncanny way of materialising which most annoying people are gifted with. One minute you're minding your own business, next, _poof_ – there they are with a stupid grin on their face.

'Hello there!' Felicia shouted brightly, as if they were sitting on the opposite sides of the ballroom rather than right next to each other.

Alice nodded once, rather sullenly, and then remained silent, scanning the crowd.

'This is my first ball, you know,' gabbled Felicia, winding a bit of ribbon off her dress around her finger, 'the whole business is so very monstrously exciting, don't you think?'

When Alice didn't reply, Felicia followed her gaze and squawked with amusement.

'Are you looking for someone, Alice? I may call you "Alice", mayn't I? After all, we've practically been raised together and Fiona and Faith do call you "Alice" whenever they speak of you, so I thought that I might too? So are you looking for someone? Someone special?' Felicia jabbed her with one pointy and frill-covered elbow, giggling madly, 'Ooh, is he handsome? I bet he's ever so handsome.'

Alice slowly turned her head to look at her. _Whatever you do_, she thought to herself, _you mustn't blush._

'I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Come now, Alice, don't tease me ... Who is he? Tinker, tailor? You can't hide it for long, you know, I pride myself on having a natural instinct for these things.'

_He wouldn't be here anyway. I wish he was. At least I'd have someone to talk to._

'You are, after all, sitting in a corner alone,' continued Felicia slyly, 'and I did see such a look of yearning on your face, I'm sure I spied it across the room.'

'You confuse yearning with boredom,' said Alice, not lifting her eyes from the crowd.

This caused quite a kerfuffle with the younger girl.

'Boredom? What cause is there for boredom in such a place?' Felicia stood, hoisting Alice up with her, 'I do declare I shall find you a man if you won't own up to one yourself.'

'Oh, no, Felicia, I'd rather just sit –'

'Waiting for them to come to you is useless, Alice. Men never are sure what they want, so you have to tell them.' And with that Felicia marched right into the fray of waltzing couples, dragging a struggling Alice along with her.

'Henry,' she cried, thrusting Alice right into her older brother, 'I have found you a dance partner.' She winked a heavy and cringingly obvious wink in Alice's direction and then sailed away before the woman could protest further.

Just as she was turning to excuse herself from the brother's company, she caught a rather pitiable look of hope dawning on Mr Chataway's face, and the excuse died on her lips.

'Shall we dance?' she said weakly, knowing she was signing herself up for a night of torture.

'Indeed we shall!' he said with a fancy, fluttery little bow which Alice thought made him look rather silly.

They glided onto the dance floor, or rather, Mr Chataway glided and Alice trudged resignedly along behind him.

She was forced to dance the rest of the night with him. Every time she went to take her leave he would look so crushed, and then when even the crushed looks could no longer earn her pity he appeared at her side and began to talk incessantly about the apple orchard in his father's manor. Dancing, she found, at least shut him up, as he seemed to find it impossible to do more than one thing at once. Finally everyone was beginning to leave, Mother still hadn't returned with the carriage, and she completely lost patience with Mr Chataway.

'... And you should see it in the spring, the sweetest little blossoms –'

'Mr Chataway,' said Alice, earning herself a stern look for interrupting, 'why is a raven like a writing desk?'

He blinked at her. She could see the works slowly grinding around and around in his head, dusty from little use.

'Because ... they both have ... clawed feet?' He looked very pleased with himself.

Alice turned and walked away from him right there.

_That was a memory, wasn't it?_

Alice drifted, remembering and dreaming.

_It's getting hard to pick the difference now._

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

_Why do I ask each one the riddle?_

_Well,_ Alice reasoned to herself, _I'm trying to find the right man, aren't I? So, I'm trying to find the right answer._

_You've already found the right answer,_ whispered her own voice back at her._ The one that made you smile._

_But even if it is the right answer, what if the right answer isn't the right answer? What if it's the right answer, but it itself can't be the answer?_

_That's very confusing._

_This place is confusing._

_I wish I could dance with him. I wish I could stay with him._

Yes, it's hard to tell the difference between dreams and memories sometimes. Other times, she knows it's a dream. It's too perfect to be true.

Alice stepped onto a marble balcony. White roses bloomed through the cracks in the pavement, winding around the pillars of the balcony wall.

'_Enough that now thou wilt not fail,_

_To listen to my fairytale.'_

Alice didn't turn. She didn't want to break the spell of the dream. She knew this one; she'd had it many times now.

'I'll listen,' she said softly, 'I'll truly listen this time, and I won't just hear the problems and the obstacles.'

'_A tale begun in other days,_

_When summer suns were glowing,_

_A simple chime, which served to time,_

_The rhythms of our rowing ...' _He neared her, and her skin tingled.

Still she didn't turn.

'_Whose echoes live in memory yet –'_

'_Though envious years would say "forget",'_ Alice finished as the Hatter stood beside her, his hat tucked neatly under one arm. She smiled at him. 'There you are.'

He returned her smile somewhat tentatively.

'Tell me, dear. Why is a raven like a writing desk?'

For a moment the dream was shot through with a memory – crystal clear and so treasured it was completely familiar.

_The small smile on his face was sad and silly, and maybe a tiny bit bashful; his eyes soft and trained on her._

_'I have absolutely no idea,' he smiled quietly._

'Do you think it's pointless to look,' she said, as the memory faded and the dream-Hatter reappeared in its place, 'when you've already found what you're looking for?'

He didn't say anything, he rarely did in dreams. She could never predict it perfectly enough.

'When we met, I was a little girl who tried to act like a dignified woman, and you were a man who acted like an undignified little boy. You told me to get my hair cut, do you remember?' she smiled, the taste of the memory bittersweet. 'You did pour me a cup of tea to make up for it, though.'

He was silent, waiting for her to go on.

'And when I came back I was a young woman who had just lost her father and wasn't ready to grow up, and you were a man who had just lost his family and wasn't ready to give up. And you snapped me out of it, and I snapped you out of it, do you remember?'

He smiled his gently half-smile.

'And you said, "why is it you're always too big or too small?"' Alice put one hand over his, resting on the balcony wall. 'Would you have kissed me?'

'Passionately,' he said, the smirk of his mouth betraying the joke.

'I'm a woman now,' she continued, 'and you're a man. So why don't you kiss me now?'

'Because I also happen to be a gentleman,' he said with a grin that almost suggested otherwise, 'and gentlemen don't do such things unless they know it will be welcome and won't earn them a slap in the face.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know for certain how you felt. My head gets in the way of my heart and it confuses things. I had a family and that confused things too.' Alice sighed, looking sadly into his face, 'I wish I could explain it to you.'

She remembered it so clearly. The Hatter's mischievous smile as he suggested the boating trip. The flutter in her heart as she heard him call her "dear".

The Hatter running, laughing, down the hill behind her, his coat flapping out and his pockets trailing brightly coloured ribbons like a kite.

'Whenever you're ready, Alice, I'll be here.' His eyes were as blue as one of her dresses as leaned forward, his voice reassuring. He was spending his whole life waiting for her.

'I hate to do this to you.'

The scent of the rushes, heady in the air around them as he leaned past her with rolled up sleeves to reach for a reed; brushing against her bare arm and zapping her skin. The boat rocking, him crashing into her and both of them landing in a heap on the floor of the boat; she couldn't resist moving closer, threading her arm through his and leaning blissfully on his shoulder. Neither could she resist shooting an endearment back at him, just to see his eyes blush. They had stood up just to knock straight back into each other, and as she tilted her head up at him he smiled so sheepishly down at her.

_Kiss him,_ whispered a voice in her mind.

'Perhaps we should sit down.'

Anything to hide the burning that was surely making her cheeks as red as two tomatoes.

And then that gazebo. Her head was so full of him, and without order it constructed a memory of her first disastrous proposal – for a fleeting second she envisioned a different redhead going down on one knee and felt her cheeks redden further.

Then he started the story. The thinly-veiled account of her own life. And of course it wasn't long before Tarrant himself came into the story, and things got personal and awkward and she had to be cruel and her heart broke for him because she had never seen him look so hurt. His eyes were bruised and his tie drooped like a withered flower, and what was worse was that she knew it was all her fault. She flinched as he told he loved her in a soft, sad voice.

_Shout at me, please,_ she thought despairingly, _swear at me in Outlandish, be angry; just don't be so hurt._

'You're my dearest friend,' she said aloud, her desperation leaking into her voice. She knew what he meant, she knew exactly what he was talking about, and she was suddenly afraid; afraid of what choices she would have to make because of it. 'My dearest friend in either world.'

She might as well have stabbed him. She wished she could explain it to him, but it was all happening so fast and her brain couldn't conjure the right words and maybe a lie would make it better, so she forced out words like "friend" even though they made his eyes dim more and made her feel sick. What she wanted to do and what she knew she had to do were two different things.

She was twisting her hands in an effort not to grab him by the bow tie and kiss him; holding his gaze and trying to reassure him while she simultaneously destroyed all his hopes; and trying to make him understand without explaining everything to him.

Because how would that explanation sound? While Alice couldn't be sure that the Hatter loved her she could lie to herself, and while she could lie to herself she didn't have to choose between her two worlds. It was that simple, and that complicated, and that selfish. She was a child at heart, and falling in love was another way of growing up.

And she had lied to herself for so long, telling herself firmly that she and Tarrant were merely friends – that he was the brother she had never had – while they walked down a street hand in hand. And then one day they had been sitting at the tea table, Thackery laughing and giggling madly as he drummed a rhythm on a line of teapots, out of beat with the music; Mally sipping her tea quietly halfway down the table, seemingly lost in thought; and Alice and Tarrant deep in discussion about topiaries at the head of the table, Alice leaning forward as she listened to him. They had been distracted in a debate over whether a reindeer or a snowman topiary would look more ridiculous, and Tarrant hadn't noticed that the cup of tea he was pouring Alice had long overflowed. In fact, neither of them noticed until boiling hot tea dripped off the sodden table cloth into Alice's lap and she leapt up with a shout. When he'd realised what he'd done Tarrant had jumped to his feet in horror, apologising profusely while searching the cluttered table for a napkin. In his mortification he managed to slip and stick his elbow right into a thick vanilla slice with a large squelching noise. There was a silence as even Mally and Thackery turned to stare at him. Slowly, his sheepish eyes met Alice's and he turned pink right through to his bow tie, and Alice realised quite calmly that she was crazily, madly, wonderfully in love with him. And from that moment things got slightly more complicated. It was one lie that she couldn't lie anymore.

'_You're my dearest friend. My dearest friend in either world.'_

What had she been thinking? She had lied to herself, (and one's self is always the worst person possible to lie to), and now she had the nerve to lie to him too? It had all happened too fast, and she had made some terrible wording choices, and by the time she had stopped thinking only that she would have to choose between him and her family and had started to finally comprehend that he loved her, _Tarrant loved her_, she was already out of the rabbit hole and Edith had pounced on her full of questions about her latest excursion. And even then she had wasted time savouring the feeling of loving and being loved in return, and imagining the future, which now seemed so bright and not half so long and stretching endlessly out in front of her. Then of course there had been another suitor fiasco with Mr Harrison, which was even more of a fiasco than the average fiasco seeing as it was Mr Harrison's nephew who was set to inherit a large portion of control over the company when Lord Ascot passed away; and Alice had found the whole mess a rude awakening, and everything had been brought back into painfully sharp focus. The last straw had been the argument with her mother, who right then in Alice's eyes was little more than one of the three people that were holding Alice back from finally going home to stay with Tarrant.

'Oh, Alice, I'm so tired. All I want is to see you settled before …'

_Don't say that, Mother. It only makes me feel worse__ about what I'm going to do to you one day. One day soon, now._

'Oh, stop it! I'm tired of you bringing that into every argument, as if you'll – as if you'll be gone next Tuesday! And how can I settle when everyone keeps trying to force me into marriages with entirely the wrong men?'

'Well, why don't you help us find the right man? We do try, Alice, again and again, each one more amiable than the last, and the truth is we don't know what you want and I don't think you do either!'

_I do know what I want. I've made my mind up now._

And then she ran away, telling herself that she would come back, but after lying to herself for so long it was hard to believe it.

And that was where it all ended. All Alice's memories went up to that one stormy night when she ran away for good. Everything seemed to cease to matter after that, there was nothing left but drifting in a web spun from golden threads and dreaming and remembering and regretting every bad choice of wording.

'_How many miles to Wonderland?'_ sung the voices around her. _'Please tell us so we'll understand ... Alice ... Alice ...'_

* * *

'The voices from the looking glass.'

The Hatter stared at her, and Edith hated the pity in his gaze.

'Where's Mally?' she asked him, her voice that of a petulant child once more.

The Hatter shook his head, looking down at Alice.

'Where's Mally?' Edith said again, louder, 'I want Mally.'

_Mally won't pity me. Mally's too clever for that. She'll snap me out of it._

'She probably followed us, if I know Mallymkun,' he said somewhat vaguely, most of his attention on Alice, his eyes darting up to check how delirious Edith was getting now and again.

'Then she's here somewhere? She's here in one of the doors and she could be in danger and you don't even care?' What would have usually made her furious just made her feel weaker, and all she could think was that everything was completely pointless. 'Why would she follow you, Hatter?'

'She followed us, not me.'

'You, mostly,' Edith murmured into her nightgown, 'and you don't even care.'

'He doesn't care,' her own voice whispered from what felt like long ago, straight into her ear.

'He doesn't. But I do,' came her mother's reply, echoing like a ghost.

'_Your mother is dead.'_

'Please, stop,' Edith moaned, curling into herself. 'Please ...'

The voices wouldn't stop. They wouldn't leave her alone. They had followed her from a nightmare into reality, and now she wasn't so sure she was even awake.

'Edith.'

'What?' It came out sharper than she meant it to, and her head jerked up to look at him. Then she saw her aunt stirring on the ground.

'Alice ...'

Alice slowly sat up, blonde curls falling into her eyes. She didn't push them away. She just stared at them just as much as they were staring at her. It was all Edith could do not to fling herself at her aunt in a hug, sobbing and seeking comfort from the only familiar thing in her surroundings. She glanced at the Hatter. He seemed to be struggling not to hug Alice himself, watching on tenterhooks as she looked from one of them to the other. Then she stared directly at her niece, and Edith felt a chill when she saw how blank her eyes were.

Alice tilted her head.

'Why, Mary-Ann, what are you doing out here?'

Edith blinked, the world seemed to shrink around her, and from somewhere far away she felt a cold tear hit her cheek.

'What?' Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong.

The Hatter turned his head, narrowing his eyes at the woman uncertainly, 'Alice?'

Alice's attention shifted to him, and he seemed to shudder slightly under her blank stare. Then she frowned, and pointed an unsteady finger at him.

'I know you,' she said.

The Hatter waited for her to continue, watching with a silent kind of dread.

'I know you are a friend,' Alice nodded to herself, 'a dear friend, and an old friend. And you won't hurt me, though I _am_ an insect.'

His eyes paled to yellow, any colour left in his cheeks draining away.

'You don't remember me,' he said, as if he had just walked into a nightmare.

'I remember you well,' said Alice steadily, 'excellent well.' She jabbed his chest with her finger. 'You are a fishmonger.'

The Hatter looked like Alice had just kicked him in the gut. He looked straight at Edith, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She knew what he was thinking. She cringed, waiting for his eyes to turn fiery orange, waiting for the brogue to hit the air. It never came. Instead were only bruised eyes, and a broken-hearted voice.

'You promised.'

* * *

**A/N:**

I know this chapter was quite long,

But I must confess,

I couldn't find a place to cut,

And not disrupt - the text.

I hope you followed all the twists,

And turns, in tone and tense,

Oh, and some feedback would be loved,

That is my one request.


	16. What Alice Found There

**I'm sorry, friends, for the delay,**

**It slipped my mind I hate to say,**

**This past week has filled up my mind,**

**With school exams and grad ball time.**

**Disclaimer:**

'_Reader of pure unclouded brow,_

_And reading eyes now weary,_

_Though it may suffer you to hear,_

_My disclaimer so dreary,_

_I still must say it without fail,_

_I do not own this fairytale.'_

**WARNING: This chapter contains references to child abuse, and some violence.**

* * *

**_CHAPTER FIFTEEN – WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE_**

Nivens McTwisp, the White Rabbit, bounded through the open doors of the White Castle, down the hall to the throne room and past the startled courtiers, noblemen, and foot servants, skidding to a halt before Queen Mirana.

'Your majesty!'

'McTwisp?' The Queen looked up from her snowy white embroidery.

'Your majesty,' he gasped, trying to get his breath, 'your majesty ...'

'Yes, McTwisp.'

'Your majesty,' he panted, 'it's about Pigmeckun Duke.'

Mirana began to slowly set aside her embroidery, the perfect picture of calm, though something in her dark eyes suggested a certain urgency.

'Have you found him?'

'I'm afraid so,' he replied, hopping from foot to foot.

Mirana dropped her pin cushion; it hit the floor at McTwisp's feet.

'Is he ...?'

'He's alive,' said the Rabbit hastily, 'but, erm ... you see, when I was trying to track him I naturally checked all the possible exits and, well ...'

'Yes, McTwisp?'

'There seems to be some sort of disturbance at the Round Hall.'

Mirana remained as calm as ever.

'A disturbance?' she said, with nothing more than casual interest.

'Yes, and I found Pig,' said McTwisp anxiously. 'Your majesty, he's ... he's gone through one of the _other_ doors.'

'That's impossible,' she said immediately, 'the other doors should be locked.'

'That is what worries me the most. Do you think …? The L-'

'They were trapped centuries ago, McTwisp,' said the Queen rather sharply. 'By my own great grandmother. I'm sure she was capable of setting up the correct wards.'

'Yes, yes, your majesty, but I am _worried_.' He shifted from foot to foot again, wringing his paws, 'I'm certain the disturbance at the Round Hall cannot be good. And I'm certain I tracked not only young Duke there but Mallymkun Ipswich, Tarrant Hightopp and the niece-child.'

'You are sure they entered the other doors?' said Mirana, leaning forward.

'Yes.'

There was a small silence. McTwisp waited for the Queen to stand, to panic, to start giving orders. She did nothing. She leant back and folded her hands carefully in her lap.

'I see,' she said.

'Shall I gather a party to go and retrieve them?' said McTwisp, barely able to believe her nonchalance.

'A party of what?' said the Queen. 'I find it hard to believe that a group of villagers armed with pitchforks will be able to go up against that particular power, and no doubt if the other doors are opening it _will_ be waiting for them. No, send for a Champion.'

'Your majesty,' said McTwisp slowly, 'there is no Champion. We've seen neither hide nor hair of Alice for ...' he trailed off, and swallowed.

'Send for the Hatter.'

'He's gone through the doors too, and Mallymkun.'

'There are others,' said Mirana, refusing to meet his eye, 'send for them.'

McTwisp twitched his nose, and said, treading carefully, 'If I may be so bold as to suggest ...?'

'Suggest what?' said the Queen, still not looking at him.

'You're the only one who has any kind of power against –'

'It is against my vows to harm any living creature,' said Mirana, as though reciting a mantra, looking down at her lap and admiring how her dark red nails contrasted with her snow white dress.

'But, your majesty,' said McTwisp in disbelief, 'you have to do _something_.'

'Do what? There is _nothing_ I can do,' she said, her voice sharp as a dagger again. She seemed to check herself then, recovered and said evenly, 'It is unfortunate. We shall have to hope for them.' And with that she picked up her embroidery again and continued from where she left off.

McTwisp stared at her.

'Mirana,' he said, struggling to keep as calm as she was, 'two of your closest friends, not to mention the boy you treat as an adopted son, have just plunged themselves into mortal peril, quite possibly not knowing the extent of the danger they are in. And you are embroidering a snowman.'

'There is nothing I can do,' she repeated, not looking up from her sewing, 'I cannot bring harm to any living creature. It is against my vows.'

'Oh, _codswallop!_' exploded McTwisp indignantly.

There was a collective gasp from the surrounding courtiers; one lady dropped her spectacles and another clapped her hands over her mouth. The air itself seemed to stiffen in shock. The Queen eyed McTwisp with a steely, frozen stare, but he didn't stop there.

'That's codswallop and you know it is. Can't you even spare a thought for Pig, who is so naive he'd let a crocodile bite his head off if it smiled at him; or even for the girl, Eddie or Emily – whatever her name is, she's _Alice Kingsleigh's_ niece and I think that Alice would have wanted us to at least make sure that she isn't killed by monsters from the dawn of time!'

'Watch yourself, McTwisp,' said Mirana warningly.

'I can't, Mirana,' he said, his voice quivering as he gathered every reserve of courage he had in him, 'not anymore. I let it slide last time, when you pushed a nineteen year old girl into the fray in your name, but I can't –'

'Alice made her own choice –'

'And you're rather good at manipulating people,' he said daringly. 'You were always very fond of chess.'

Mirana finally dropped her sewing, and when she looked up he saw that her eyes were wet.

'Do you think ... Pig is really in danger?'

'I have no doubt.'

An emotion broke through the marble-like facade – helplessness.

'My vows ...' she muttered. 'I don't like getting angry.'

'With all due respect, your majesty,' said McTwisp, 'you cannot always let others fall for you. I assure you that you are doing Pigmeckun much more harm by staying here. Is that not causing harm to a living creature?'

* * *

It didn't take Mirana long to reach the Round Hall, portal-hopping through the doors that wound through Underland like a secret labyrinth of shortcuts. McTwisp had offered to come with her, trembling all over like an autumn leaf who has just about had it up to here and is quite ready to fall off the tree, thank you very much, but she insisted on going alone. Now that she stepped into the Hall she wasn't so sure it had been the best idea.

'Mirana, what have I taught you?' tutted the voice of her father from nowhere, making her throat constrict and her breath catch. 'Don't push the King piece into the battle. He's too valuable. The Queen too. Be careful with the Queen. She has the most influence and power.'

'Like Mummy?' chimed her own voice, small and mild.

There was a rumbling chuckle from her father.

Mirana shook herself, shivering. That wasn't normal. That wasn't just a memory. She had heard their voices, echoing around her mind.

She looked around the Hall. Her mother had taken her here once, long ago. She had whispered secrets to her, things she had to know about the history of the doors. Especially the _other_ doors. The Hall was alive. Usually alive and benevolent, but something was lurking behind the doors. Something ... not quite evil, but poisonous. Something deadly.

Mirana turned from door to door as the chandelier overhead chinkled softly.

'Don't listen to their voices, Mirana,' whispered her mother, the words bouncing around her head, 'don't let them trap you. They'll hide in the shadows.'

'What can I do, Mother?' she said, though she knew the memory of the lesson couldn't reply. 'What if I can't control myself?'

'_Mirana of Marmoreal...'_

She turned as one of the doors called her name.

'Don't listen to their voices,' she repeated to herself. 'Don't listen to them.'

But what was she meant to do? She had to watch over her subjects. She had to save her friends. And her boy wasn't safe. And now all she had for a lead was a whisper from a door.

With a deep breath to centre herself she stepped forward and turned the knob.

And by now the shadows had grown impatient. They had swarmed behind the door, pressing against one another, and now they burst free; engulfing the Queen like a tidal wave of grey and black.

Mirana didn't have time to struggle as even the white of her very self was blocked out by the blackness.

And then she was plunged headfirst into her worst memory.

* * *

'_Give me that!'_

'_No!'_

'_You've been playing with it since breakfast!'_

'_That's because it's MINE!'_

'_Aunt Marie gave it to BOTH OF US!'_

'_She gave it TO ME!'_

'_NO! I WANT TO PLAY WITH IT!'_

'_IT'S – NOT – YOURS!'_

'_It should be!' shrieked Iracebeth, her face purple with fury. 'I'M THE ELDEST!'_

'_You bring that into everything!' Mirana screamed back, her black curls bouncing around as she tried to tug the stuffed cat out of her sister's determined and honey-covered grasp. 'You're getting it all sticky! You didn't wash your hands properly after lunch,' she added primly._

'_I did too!' shouted Iracebeth, releasing the cat and latching on to this new argument._

'_I bet your head will explode someday,' snapped Mirana, clutching the cat to her chest and leaning over it to pull a face at Iracebeth. 'You look like a great big eggplant, all angry like that.'_

_She looked simultaneously outraged and wounded._

'_Well,' she spluttered, 'you're ugly and puny and you're mean because you never share your toys!' She crossed her arms with a silent "take that"._

_Mirana gasped in indignation and grabbed a hank of her sister's bright red hair._

'_Take it back!' she screamed._

'_No!'_

'_Take it back, carrot-top!'_

'_I won't, I won't, I won't!' She grabbed one of Mirana's shiny curls and pulled it straight. 'Now let go of me!'_

'_Ouch!' Losing her temper, Mirana sent a white hot bolt of energy down her fingertips, shocking Iracebeth's hair._

'_OW!' screeched the girl._

'_GIRLS!' bellowed their nurse-maid, storming in and standing before them as they froze halfway through scuffling on the floor. She set her hands on her hips and one sturdy-booted foot began to tap ominously, and the sisters knew they were in for it. They both began to gabble in high-pitched voices._

'_It's not my fault –'_

'_She took my toy –'_

'_I did not! She's a liar!'_

'_She used her magic to zap me again –'_

_Nanny grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks at that and forcefully separated them, dumping Iracebeth in a toy baby pram and marching over to the other side of the room to dump Mirana in a toy baby cot. Both girls wailed and attempted to free themselves from their tight seats, flailing their limbs in the air pointlessly._

'_Enough,' said Nanny, and the girls fell silent at her look, 'you'll stay there until you can act your own age.'_

_Neither sister dared say or do anything but glare furtively at each other from across the room._

'_For goodness' sake, Miss Mirana,' sighed Nanny, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Can you not learn to share your toys?'_

'_She always breaks them,' said Mirana, doe-eyed and woeful._

'_Well, at least learn to control your temper. How many times has your mother told you? Your magic is –'_

'"_Untamed and dangerous",' recited Mirana, casting her big brown eyes down in a show of repentance._

_The Nanny sniffed, seemingly satisfied._

'_Well ...Just be a little more careful next time. And, you, missy,' she said, turning fiercely on a sniggering Iracebeth, 'will have to learn to be gentle.'_

_The girl cried out, 'What? I didn't do anything; why do you always take _her_ side?'_

_The nurse ignored her, continuing, 'I am going to go to the library and fetch myself some books. You are to stay and finish your play hour_ quietly_. Understood?' Nanny looked sternly from one to the other._

_Mirana nodded obediently; Iracebeth crossed her arms and sulked. Nanny left the room with one last glance behind her that told them both she would be listening for any further disturbance._

_There was a small silence in the room as both girls struggled out of their respective pram and cot._

'_I'm sorry, Racie,' said Mirana, crossing the room to extend a slender little hand to her sister._

'_I don't need your help,' she sneered, batting the hand away, 'I know you don't mean it.' She wrestled her own way out of the pram, landing ungracefully in a red taffeta heap on the floor before climbing to her feet and straightening her dress haughtily._

_Mirana watched her silently, before tentatively suggesting, 'Shall we play make-believe? You can pick the story.'_

_Iracebeth pursed her lips, still annoyed, but nodded._

_Mirana pulled the heavy book of fairytales off the nursery shelf; dropping it with a thud on their play tea table, then stood back submissively to let Iracebeth flip through the pages._

'_No, no, no ... _no_,' muttered the girl as she passed over mermaids, dragons, and soppy-looking princesses in towers. She flipped further, then stopped. 'Hmm ...'_

_Mirana stood on tiptoe to peer over Racie's shoulder. The illustration in the book depicted a wizard in billowing robes raising a shining silver sword over a boulder._

'_This one,' grinned Iracebeth, tapping the page. 'We haven't done the Sword in the Stone yet.'_

'_Where are we going to find a sword? Mummy made Daddy put all the weapons that the suits of armour had away after my last ... eski – escape –'_

'"_Escapade", little sister,' corrected Iracebeth dismissively. 'And I think I know where we can find a sword _and_ a stone.' There was a glint in her eye which Mirana recognised as the look which always heralded rule-breaking._

'_I don't want to get in trouble,' she began, squirming._

'_Who says we're going to get in trouble?' Racie stared her down with dark, glittering eyes. 'Follow me.'_

_She trotted out of the room, motioning to Mirana to follow her and be silent._

_Together the two sisters, snow white and rose red in their matching dresses and slippers, tiptoed through the halls of the castle, ducking behind suits of armour and hanging tapestries as servants passed by. They knew they weren't allowed to roam the castle without their nurse-maid to chaperone them; there were things lurking in the walls and nooks and secret passageways that were best left undisturbed by two screaming children. Just when Mirana began to lose what little nerve she had and was about to suggest going back, Racie stopped at a door of plain, sensible oak. It was not unlike other doors in the castle, but Mirana felt something behind it call to her, tugging at her magic and making her skin tingle._

'_I saw Mummy go in here once,' whispered Iracebeth, although the hallway was deserted but for them. 'She came out with a huge sack of crystal balls.'_

'_Crystal balls?' said Mirana faintly, dizzy with the power of the magic behind the door._

'_What's wrong with you?' hissed Iracebeth, shaking her arm. 'Snap out of it; come on.' She went to push the door open. It held fast. 'Locked,' she cursed. Then she whipped around to face Mirana, fixing her with a steely glare, 'Open it.'_

'_Maybe we shouldn't,' said Mirana, 'it's making me feel funny.'_

'_What is?' said Racie impatiently, crossing her arms._

'_Can't you feel it?'_

'_Feel what?'_

'_The magic behind the door.' She couldn't believe her sister, non-magic though she was, wasn't in the least bit affected by the raw power of it, seeping under the door in waves._

_Iracebeth glared at her, 'Stop teasing me. You know I can't help not being ...' Her mouth twisted unpleasantly; she looked almost ready to cry, and Mirana felt a surge of guilt._

'_I'm sorry,' she said hurriedly, 'I didn't mean to upset you – I didn't mean it that way.'_

'_I don't believe you,' hissed Racie softly, her bright eyes as hard as two nails driving slowly into Mirana's head._

'_No, Racie ... I'm sorry –'_

'_Then open the door.'_

_Mirana took a deep breath, then, with the strong feeling that she was doing exactly the wrong thing, she pressed a hand against the door. The frame glowed white. Mirana pushed, but it still didn't give way._

'_I can't ...'_

'_You can,' said Racie forcefully, 'you're not trying hard enough.'_

'_I am! Help me!'_

'_Fine.'_

_Together they pushed as hard as they could against the door. Slowly, heavily, it opened, nearly blinding them both with white light. Mirana was transfixed by the swell of the power within the room. In a trance she stepped forward as her sister flinched beside her, shielding her eyes with her hands._

'_Wait for me, titch,' she called, grabbing the back of Mirana's skirt._

_Mirana ignored her. The power her sister had over her was swept away by the magic throbbing in this place. As her eyes adjusted to the diamond light, she saw that they were in a golden chamber which seemed to stretch on forever. It was filled from floor to ceiling with piles of things that nearly made her eyes pop out of her head._

_Rocking chairs rocking themselves, glass shoe boxes with slippers made of crystal inside, chests of treasure; rubies and diamonds and emeralds, all spilling over onto the gold floor. Windows were set into the walls, and Mirana peered out to see pastures of green grass, sunsets, silver trees and orange skies; and people, so many people: people dancing, people living, people dying, people reading, people running, shouting, kissing. As she walked further she saw more treasures; a blooming rose growing out of a crack between the gold stones, protected by a glass dome; a pea sitting on a velvet cushion. Bubbles floated overhead, and as Mirana felt a whoosh of air above her head she looked up to see a richly embroidered rug flying through the chamber._

'_Oh my goodness,' she breathed, soaking up the raw magic, feeling it course through her veins with a rough, uncontrollable beat. It made her heart beat three times as fast._

'_Mirana!'_

_She turned around. Iracebeth had adjusted to the glare, and was bedecked in jewels, glittering all the more._

'_Racie! You have to put those back!'_

'_Oh, shut up.'_

_Mirana felt a stab of anger, and knew it was annoyance spurred on by the raw magic. She grit her teeth._

'_Look what I found.' From behind her back Racie drew a sword, a magnificent sword. It was almost as big as Iracebeth herself and was slender and silver, perfectly polished as though it had never been touched. A large blue stone, surrounded by a scattering of smaller ones, decorated the hilt._

_Mirana caught her breath._

'_It's beautiful.'_

'_Don't want me to put it back now, do you?' said her sister smugly._

_Mirana reached out for it, only to have it waved out of her grasp as Iracebeth strutted away. Her fingers closed on thin air and clenched._

'_I couldn't find a rock,' said Iracebeth's voice from far away, filtering into the world of red that Mirana was seeing. 'I thought we could use this instead.'_

_Mirana shook herself, making her way unsteadily over to Racie, her fists clenching and unclenching. She was standing by a treasure chest, waiting for her._

'_You can be my apprentice,' she said importantly, swinging a necklace of pearls out of the way, as she raised the sword, her small arms wobbling slightly with the weight of it. 'Ready?'_

'_No,' snapped Mirana. 'I want to be the wizard.'_

_Iracebeth stiffened. She put down the sword._

'_What?' she said through gritted teeth._

'_I want to be the wizard.'_

'_You always get the good parts,' said Iracebeth, her tone blunt and irritable. 'Besides, this is my game.'_

'_You got to choose the story, that's all,' shouted Mirana, stepping up to her._

_Iracebeth rose an eyebrow._

'_What's got into you?'_

'_Nothing!' growled Mirana. 'Give me the sword!'_

_Iracebeth seemed to savour the word, 'No.'_

'_GIVE IT TO ME!' screeched the youngest sister, leaping on Iracebeth in a frenzy._

_Because this was the last thing her opponent had been expecting, Mirana got a grip on the sword, but she was shaken off before she could win it completely._

'_What are you doing, you ugly little freak?'_

_The words fuelled Mirana's anger, her hurt._

'_Don't call me ugly!'_

_They struggled over the sword, staggering back and forth, kicking and biting and pulling hair. Every time Mirana's foot connected with her sister's shin, or her teeth sunk into her arm, or her hand came away with threads of broken hair, she felt a viscous wave of vengeance._

_From somewhere far away she heard a door blasting open and the sound of her parents' voices, coming nearer to them._

'_Iracebeth! Mirana! Let go of that this instant!' cried Mummy._

'_Girls, listen to your mother!'_

_Mirana was too far gone to listen. The rage was roaring like a beast inside her, growing and growing like a looming tidal wave. She was ready to explode with it._

'_It's my right! I'm the one who inherited the magical talent!' she screamed at Iracebeth._

'_I'm a late bloomer, Daddy said so!'_

'_No, you're not! It all went to me; all of it, all of it, all of it, all of it! ALL OF IT!' As she screamed the last words she felt her own hair crackle with magical energy; a zap like she had never felt before that shot through her from the roots to the ends of the strands. She was unstoppable. The magic was hers, all of it. It was her right. _

_Iracebeth was blasted back, skidding along the ground with a cry of pain as their parents ran forward. Mirana raised the sword above her head._

'_Mirana, no,' screamed her mother, 'it mustn't be used for anything but –'_

_Mirana plunged the Vorpal Sword deep into the treasure chest, all the force of every ounce of raw, untamed magic she had within her behind it. The energy crackled down the hilt, running through the sword and splitting the chest in two._

_And suddenly the fury was gone, and as if all the life had been sucked out of her with it Mirana staggered back, her hands slipping from the sword, which was now shaking, glowing, burning white hot._

_Mirana exchanged a horrified glance with Iracebeth, who was frozen in shock on the floor._

'_What have you done?' said her sister fearfully._

'_Mummy,' said Mirana, feeling the world around her spin, 'I don't feel well.'_

_The sword shook more and more violently, building up with the pressure of Mirana's hot, burning anger._

_Their mother, Queen of Underland, looked from the sword to her children to her husband._

'_Uthur ... I'm sorry. I don't have enough in me for all of us.'_

_Something passed between them, something Mirana couldn't understand; a look that held an entire conversation in its passing._

'_Protect them,' said her father._

_Both her parents became a blur as they sped into action – the King towards the quivering sword and the Queen towards Mirana and Iracebeth._

'_Quickly, Guin!' cried the King, and pulled the sword from the pile of shaking coins and jewels holding it upright._

_The world exploded._

_In the second before it did, their mother threw herself forward with all she had, casting a shield of pure, white light around the two sisters. Like something from a fairytale, the light kept them safe, unscathed as the sword emitted a blast of red fire and magic, bouncing off the walls of the chamber. All the treasures exploded, burning and shattering; glass broke, the flying carpets fell and the rocking chairs became a shower of deadly wood splinters._

_Safe inside the dome of light Mirana and Iracebeth cowered, clinging to one another in terror._

''_Rana ...' whimpered Iracebeth._

_Everything was a haze of fire that she could barely see in. But she always remembered the heat, burning furiously outside the dome and making it feel like an oven, and her sister gripping her hands tightly. They both watched with wide eyes as Mummy and Daddy ... _melted_._

When she finally emerged from that hell of liquid fire, and when she saw herself in the mirror, she discovered that the burst of magic had turned her hair white. She clipped a piece of it off. It fell softly into her hand; like snowflakes. She giggled vacantly at the thought.

She twirled the strands between her thumb and forefinger. She liked the colour white, she decided. It was clean. Clean and pure and ice cold. Cold and numbing and soothing.

Her control was amazing, she had also discovered. She just hadn't been trying all these years. All you had to do was reach inside you for the candle labelled "To Feel/Not to Feel", and blow it out with one swift, icy breath. It was easy, she decided, when you didn't feel.

While Iracebeth hated her and cried and sobbed and screamed for her mummy, and the subjects lined up outside the castle all dressed in black, moaning and gripping each for support, Mirana sat in the nursery, in her favourite chair which was just a little bit too tall for her, swinging her feet and staring at her hair clippings.

She hated black, she decided as she watched more grievers arrive through the window. She hated fire and she hated darkness. And she would vow to stay away from it, and it would not touch her again.

Yes, Mirana decided, humming softly to herself, her little white shoes skimming the floor in a steady beat. She liked the colour white.

* * *

While the Queen was entrapped, Pig was stuck in his own personal hell.

'Speak roughly to your little boy,' sang a voice he knew too well, 'and beat him when he sneezes, for he can thoroughly enjoy the pepper when he pleases!'

'Stop, Mum, please,' he moaned.

Memories repressed deep inside his mind for years now were being roughly shoved to the surface, bubbling angrily like a pot of over-brewed stew.

Memories of being hit, beaten bloody; with a spoon, with fists and hands, with feet, with words. His mother's huge face, looming over him, twisted in hideous rage. He'd never seen anything as ugly as her anger.

'I speak severely to my boy,' she sang in a coarse voice, every word spat out like a curse, spraying him with flecks of spit, 'I beat him when he sneezes, he only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases!'

'I can't help it, Mum,' he pleaded; a little boy, small and underfed and so thin he felt his bones creak when he moved to shield himself, 'I can't help it, I'm always sick –' He sneezed again, and she shoved him into the wall. Pain shot through his body, and he fell onto the floor, every part of him throbbing.

'It's pepper,' she screamed insanely, grinning and laughing and spinning gleefully, 'it makes you sick and it makes me mad!'

'Pepper makes you angry?'

'Stupid boy!'

He was hit across the face and she turned her back on him.

Everything back then had been like one long nightmare, every day blurring into the next; pain and the song and his mother's angry red face. And then one day he had woken up. There was no song, and his mother was lying face down on the floor, flies buzzing over her and empty bottles scattered around her. The foulest smell imaginable hung in the stale air. Pig had run outside and thrown up. How long had she been lying there, while he recovered from the last beating?

He couldn't go back inside. Perhaps she was asleep. Perhaps she was only waiting to grab his ankle. He was frightened, even though he knew he was free, and he ran. He ran all the way up into the mountains which bordered the land they lived in. There were monsters on the other side, his mother had told him. The world stopped after the mountains and if you fell off the monsters would gobble you up.

But the man and the woman who found him curled up in the bushes didn't look like monsters. She looked like moonlight and sunshine and he looked like a rainbow, and they had both taken him over the edge of the world and into another, where everything was green and alive.

But the nightmares followed him. They lingered on the edge of everything, at the back of his mind, and now they had caught up, and here he was; back in the tiny, cramped little house where he had been born into a childhood from hell.

A blow struck him; long fingernails scratched across his face. Blood was drawn. Tears stung the cuts.

'Stop, please, stop ...'

There was a high cackle, and it wasn't his mother's.

Blonde curls flew into sight, the smell of flowers filling his nostrils as she elbowed him in gut. Delicate hands pushed him back with unbelievable force; he hit something hard and fell once more, down on all fours. She kicked him hard and he choked, coughing.

'Stop ...'

'_Speak roughly to your little boy,'_ Isolda sang brightly as she stood over him, her pink dress splattered with blood. His blood, he realised with a dull shock_. 'And beat him when he sneezes, he only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases.'_ Her perfect face was twisted in wicked delight in his pain.

'_What's wrong, kitchen boy? Can't you bring yourself to hit me?'_ Again she slashed his face, grinning, again she kicked him and beat him. Her voice was strange and warbled, echoing around him. It was too loud, too sweet, it made his head spin.

'I don't understand,' he croaked, 'I thought ...'

'_You thought I was real?'_ she laughed, clasping her hands in delight. _'Really? You _really_ fell for it?'_

He must have misheard something. Must have misunderstood. She couldn't be a lie. She was perfect.

'I fell for you. I thought ... you were made for me.'

'_I was.'_ The smile slipped into a grimace, her sharp white teeth bared_. 'Stupid, stupid boy,' _she said softly. Her blue eyes were empty of anything but a scorching hate – the hate of something that had been cooped up, waiting for revenge while its grudges festered. She kicked him again, square in the stomach. He groaned and coughed up blood, curling up on the floor. She cocked her head, intrigued. _'Why don't you hit back?'_

Her voice seemed to split into three, bouncing off the walls, louder and louder.

'_Why don't you fight back, you coward?'_

'_Are you afraid of me?'_

'_You're too soft,'_ she spat, sneering down at him.

Slowly, painfully, Pig climbed to his feet. His heart and his chest throbbed painfully, though for different reasons. He wiped his face on the back of his hand. It came away bloody.

'I'm not afraid of you,' he said thickly, through his blood nose, 'and I won't hit you. Not because I love you. I won't hit you because I will never treat anyone the way my mother treated me. No matter how angry, or hurt I am, I'm never going to act like such a piece of slurking urpal slackush scrum.'

Her face contorted in fury, turning bright red, and she raised her hand once more, when suddenly cracks appeared in the world, splintering everything into hundreds of pieces as Isolda and the squalid little room shattered and fell away, leaving behind a thick blackness. And just as he began to wonder exactly what he was standing on, Pig fell, hurtling down and down and down, head over heels and heels over head; spinning wildly.

He landed with a silent finality on both feet. He was in a shadowed room, surrounded on all sides by giant mirrors which distorted his image over and over. Pig stared at his reflection. His nose was unbroken, his face was unscathed and clean of blood. The blood on his hand had disappeared. So had the pain.

He had never been more confused in his life.

'What ...?' He felt his face tentatively, half expecting the mirror to be lying. 'What is going on?'

'Something not good,' said a small voice from his ankle.

Pig looked down in surprise to see Mallymkun. She was sitting by his left foot, looking extremely bored.

'Mally?' he narrowed his eyes. 'Is that really you?'

'I bloody well hope so,' she snorted.

That was enough to satisfy him. He sat down beside her complacently, waiting for her to explain.

'I'm glad that worked,' she said, and didn't explain.

'Glad what worked?'

'Breaking mirrors.'

'Oh.' He looked around at the mirrors surrounding them. None were broken.

'They don't seem to like it much,' said Mally, as though she had just conducted a rather interesting experiment for her own amusement, though he sensed some deeper concern behind her apparent calm. 'Makes them spit you out.'

That reminded him.

'Mally!' he cried, flapping his arms, much distressed. 'Mally, we've got to get out of here; it's Isolda, she's nuts, she's not real, she's a – a thing!'

He expected Mally to jump up shouting and brandishing her sword. Instead she crossed her legs and nodded thoughtfully, looking disturbingly undisturbed by this revelation.

'Mally!'

'Pig!'

He frowned at her, 'Don't you understand the danger we're in?'

'Oh, I understand,' she said, getting to her feet. 'I understand a good deal better than you do, too, so you can shut your gob.'

He rubbed his head in bewilderment.

'So, uh, you know what's going on then?'

Mally frowned into one of the mirrors, her back turned to him.

'Do you know where we are, Pig?'

'The Round Hall?'

'Yes. And it has a reputation for being a bit ... funny. Not viscous, though. And what I saw was particularly ... viscous,' she said, her frown deepening. 'It was made by something that could hate.'

'What did you see?'

He could have sworn she stiffened slightly.

'Doesn't matter. I got out, and then I wondered what it was,' she said, and turned to him, 'which is what usually happens after the panic dies down. And then I remembered that there was something behind the other doors. Something not good.'

Pig stared at her blankly.

'Haven't you ever been to school?'

'Uh, no.'

She sighed and turned back to the glass.

'Well, one of the things they teach at school is history. And this particular piece of history is a bit of a taboo subject, but ...'

'Go on.'

Mally bit her lip.

'Once upon a time,' she recited, 'there was the Bloodshed. War raged across the continent of Underland for an age, until many tribes united and pushed those deemed "evil" across the borders, to live in the deserts of the ruined Outlands, which were once the battlefields. Peace reigned for some years, before the dissatisfied outcasts of the Outlands brought violence back into Underland. Around this time there emerged some ... creatures.'

'Creatures?'

'Things. Some said they were the spirits of those killed in the First Bloodshed, come to seek revenge. Whatever they had been once, now they were nothing but hatred.'

'What did they want?'

'To hate. They wanted to kill and maim and torture. To have power over others and to use their own powers against everything. They simply wanted to destroy. And they did destroy. The Outlanders tried to harness them, use them as weapons, but even they were killed eventually.' Mally lent a hand against the glass of the mirror, tracing patterns. 'Everyone that stood in their way was killed.'

'But a hero stopped them, right? A hero always stops them.'

Mally nodded with a small smile, 'The Queen of Underland stopped them. Used one of their own mirrors against them.'

'And she killed them.'

'No. She trapped them. She tossed them into the In Betweens, behind the other doors of the Round Hall, and set up wards and locked the doors.' Mally turned to him again, and he knew his fear must have registered on his face. 'Turns out she didn't lock them quite properly.'

Pig felt himself pale further.

'Then ... Isolda ... she was?'

'A Looking Glass creature,' said Mally, nodding again, 'sounds about right.'

'A looking what?'

'A Looking Glass creature, it's like a little foot-soldier of the Looking Glass Children,' she said, 'they're shapeshifters. Dangerous shapeshifters; they can manipulate just about anything. They can see into both worlds: Overland and Underland. And they use it against you. They were all supposed to be trapped in the In Betweens for all eternity, but they must have been gathering power for centuries. Lift me up.'

Pig put out a hand for her to hop onto and stood carefully, sitting her on his shoulder.

'See that?' she said, pointing into the mirror before them.

Pig put his hands to the glass and peered in, as though through a window.

'What can you see?'

Pig nearly jumped in surprise.

'A sheep knitting a woollen sweater with a letter 'M' on it.'

'Good, I thought I was going barmy.'

'What's a sheep doing here?' he wondered aloud, then a nasty if slightly ridiculous thought occurred to him, 'It's not a ... looking thingy, is it?'

'What, that thing? No,' laughed Mally.

'How do you know that?'

'Look at it. It's a sheep,' she said plainly. 'Well, it looks like a sheep anyway.'

'What is it really, then?'

'I think it's the White Queen.'

'Aunt Mirana?'

'Yes.'

Pig looked down at her with raised eyebrows.

'But it's a _sheep_.'

'And you're a Pig.'

He stared at her.

'Sorry. I couldn't resist,' she flashed him a weak smile and then explained, 'like I said; this place can do funny things to your head. It makes you see things.'

'I know.'

'I don't think this is one of the Looking Glass Childrens' things, though. Everything they show you is real. This is just Round Hall being Round Hall.'

'How do we get her out?'

Mally shrugged, 'Same way I got you out, I suppose.'

'And how did you do that?' he said, trying hard to be patient.

'I saw you through a mirror, like this, except you were, well, a pig. And I think you were dancing.'

'I definitely wasn't dancing,' he said darkly and she looked at him in concern.

'You're alright, aren't you? The things I saw weren't my best memories.'

He smiled thinly, 'Mine weren't my best either.'

She looked about to question him further, but stopped herself.

'I broke the mirror you were in and it spat you out and repaired itself.' She stood on his shoulder, and he flinched as her blade flashed out, nearly taking his eye with it.

'Watch it, Mal!' he yelped.

'Sorry,' she grinned, and raised the sword above her head, bringing it down with all her strength on the mirror.

* * *

The Hatter felt like he was falling to pieces. Alice was staring blankly at him. Edith was huddled on the floor, sobbing into her nightgown. She sounded as broken as he felt. For a second he wondered numbly how long she had been searching for her aunt, and then he realised with a tiny zap of a shock that Alice was her _aunt_. She was her family.

All this time he had hated the girl, disliked her because Alice loved her and not him, and had been annoyed at the child's persistence in following him, dogging his footsteps and standing between him and Alice just as she had unknowingly done seven years ago.

Tarrant had once had a family. Full and boisterous and colourful. And they had been taken from him.

And now here he was, trying to take Edith's family away from her. Before, it was hard to believe that a child with eyes that seemed cold and untrusting, who bellowed and shouted and saw nothing but her own point of view, could love and care and give. Now, the same child was crying on the floor like she had lost everything, and the Hatter had to realise that Edith did love. She loved fiercely, with a stubborn determination. She loved just as much as he did, and she'd lost just as much as he had.

'Edith,' he said, trying to be gentle, 'don't cry anymore, please.'

That just made her sob harder; it was the only sound in the semi-darkness.

'I'm dreaming, it's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare,' muttered Edith between sobs.

Only a nightmare. How wonderful that would be. To wake up and find that this whole thing was nothing more than a dream, that Alice had never gone missing, that the trip into the woods with the Stone; finding it and losing it and finding it again, had all been make-believe. That none of it was real. One of those dreams that didn't make sense. Didn't make sense ...

'Edith,' said the Hatter, as something rather horrible began to occur to him, 'perhaps you remember what I was saying before? About coincidences?'

There was no reply from the girl, who merely continued to cry. He didn't think she had even heard him.

'Edith,' he said again, 'I said something before about coincidences. The coincidences with you finding the Stone and then me. I think … It's important, Edith, I'm sure it is.' He bit his lip, pacing to and fro in agitation. 'There are more coincidences.'

She wasn't listening.

'Edith.' He crouched down beside the girl, gently pulling her hands away from her face, 'Edith, please. Please, don't cry anymore, I need you to help me remember. We have to get out of this place, Edith, and something is … terribly, horribly, badly wrong.'

The girl couldn't seem to stop sobbing; the tears kept coming and Tarrant felt at a complete loss as to what to do – he had to get her to calm down. He had to make her focus.

'Alice,' he said in desperation, turning his head to the woman standing above them.

She stared down at him, her brown eyes dead and blank.

'Alice, please.'

She didn't blink, looking right through him. Then she opened her mouth.

'It's only a dream, nothing can hurt you,' she said, as though reciting from a script, 'but in that sleep of death what dreams may come?'

'I must be dead, I must be dreaming; it can't be real,' Edith muttered with an unfocused gaze.

'No, Edith,' Tarrant said sharply, hunching low to meet her eyes, 'listen to me. You're awake. It's not just a dream. You need to focus and we need to get out of here, wherever "here" is. Concentrate,' he said, gripping her wrists tightly. He looked back at Alice with one last pleading look.

'Alice, help me. There was a time when you could fight off a Jabberwock.'

As she looked at him blankly the inspiration came to him. He remembered Alice stepping forward to fight the Jabberwock all those years ago, so young and so full of muchness, muttering under her breath about impossible things.

'Edith,' he said, turning back to the girl, 'we need to remember the coincidences. There's something wrong, we have to work it out and I'm going to need your help. You watch, Edith, and you remember everything you see, I know you do. Coincidences.'

'Coincidences?' The girl raised her head, eyes and nose streaming and red.

'Count them, Edith,' said the Hatter, releasing her. 'Count them with me. One.'

'… I found the Stone when I wandered off,' said Edith slowly.

'Two.'

'… I found you quickly … when I had no way of tracking you.'

'Three.'

Edith frowned to herself, wiping at her face, thinking back.

'Shifting Lake,' she said eventually, 'it moves around but … when Mally and I were chased out of the forest it just happened to be right in front of us.'

The Hatter nodded.

'Four.'

'Isolda,' said Edith, 'she just happened to have a tower there.'

'You found her at Shifting Lake?' said the Hatter in surprise.

'What?'

'It's not possible to have a house on Shifting Lake,' he said, 'the house would disappear and change and reappear constantly.'

'Five,' continued Edith, her frown deepening, 'the Stone only worked for Isolda.'

'That is rather …'

'Six, Hatter,' said Edith, and her eyes met his, widening, 'Alice was behind the first set of doors we tried.'

Tarrant felt a chill run down his back. He stood up, pulling Edith up with him.

'Where are we going? How do we get out?'

Splendid, the child had gone from weeping to panicking.

'I don't know,' he began, grabbing Alice's hand and pulling them all close together just as a fierce wind blew up, swirling around them.

Beside him Edith shielded her eyes from the gale and Alice just stood with her eyes shut. Tarrant, too, shut his eyes against the wind, feeling his clothes flapping wildly. Just as they were nearly blown over the wind stopped, and Tarrant looked up to see that they were back in the first room; in the Round Hall.

'What happened?' cried Edith.

The doors were gone. Now, lining the room in their stead, were seven full length looking glasses.

'Where's the little door?'

'Shush,' he said, not knowing what else to say.

Edith glared at him and he was almost glad to see it. It had been slightly disturbing, seeing her submit to such a humble thing as crying.

'_Nice coincidences,'_ said a voice in his ear, and he jumped.

Three voices giggled in unison, the noise reverberating throughout the Hall.

'_So far you've proven that you can count to six,'_ said another voice, or perhaps it was the same one, _'we're all very impressed.'_

Three shadows appeared against the wall and mirrors, casting themselves from Edith, the Hatter, and Alice, but they looked shapeless and pitch black, as if one could fall into them.

'_But you only spotted one of our creatures,'_ teased one of the voices, _'we planted two.'_

'Isolda's the most annoying person I've ever met,' said Edith, her voice shaking, 'but calling her a creature is a little harsh, don't you think?'

'_Isolda was a Looking Glass creature, and we are the Looking Glass Children,'_ said the voice impatiently. _'That should mean something to the Hatter, at least.'_

It did mean something to him. The names stirred memories of childhood horror, and he suddenly felt sick.

'You ... you're ...'

'_Finally. You're rather slow; the Dormouse got it straight away.'_

'Mally is here, then?'

The voices giggled again.

'_Perhaps.'_

He felt something tug at his sleeve, and looked down to see Edith frowning up at him.

'What's going on?'

_How to explain this quickly...?_

'They,' he said, pointing to the shadows, 'are going to kill us.'

'Oh,' she said, and looked rather disheartened.

'They're going to _try_ to kill us,' he amended hastily.

'_Not wishing to interrupt or anything,'_ one of the shadows cut in, _'but you haven't guessed yet.'_

'What?' said Tarrant rudely, past the point of caring that the Looking Glass Children held all the cards at the present moment, while he held not even a small burnt corner of a card.

'_We planted two creatures.'_

That, however, got his attention.

'Isolda ... and ...?' He thought back, remembering their former company. There had been himself and Mally, who couldn't be spies. There was Pig, whom he had known for many years. And there was –

'Edith?' he said aloud, and he looked at her with horror.

She looked ready to slap him, and he took a step back, shepherding Alice with him.

'Are you daft?' she cried, looking genuinely hurt. 'They're talking about the Evisceraker.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' he said, stepping back into place. 'I knew that,' he added unconvincingly.

Edith sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand, and he cringed, hoping she wasn't about to burst into tears again.

'_The niece-child has guessed correctly,'_ said one of the Children, sounding terribly amused, _'pity it's the only thing she can do right.'_

Edith glared at them, though it was a rather weak, wet glare.

'_We needed to get at least one of you out of the forest,' _continued the Children. _'Our powers could only stretch so far outside the Hall and planting something as complicated as Isolda was tricky. Shifting Lake we found easiest to manipulate, so we had to get you to Shifting Lake to meet Isolda.'_

'But if that thing wasn't real,' puzzled Edith, 'why does my leg have a scar on it?'

'Have you ever had a dream you could feel pain in?' said the Hatter. 'Or thought you could feel pain?'

Edith looked quite ready to sit down and start crying again.

'That doesn't make any sense.'

'None of it did, really,' he said, 'remember? All those coincidences? They've been controlling things all this time to lead us right into their trap. With things like the Stone being re-found and Isolda being able to work it the whole thing became almost ridiculously easy, didn't it?'

Edith sighed.

'I don't care. I want to go home,' she said, the dreaded tears welling in her eyes again.

'_Aw, poor itty-bitty baby Edith wants to go home,'_ sneered the Children. _'There's no home to go to, baby Edith. Mummy's all dead.'_

Edith's face crumpled.

'Edith,' said the Hatter, closing one hand around her wrist, 'we're leaving. Now. We're going home, so don't cry. Gentlemen, ladies, Children,' he said, addressing the shadows, 'I'm afraid my ward here is getting tired. Thank you for the tea and biscuits, but I think we'll just take Alice and be going.'

'_You can't take Alice.'_ The voices had gone from maliciously playful to threatening. _'We want her.'_

'_You can't have her,'_ he growled, gripping her hand tightly. _'You won't harm a hair on her head.'_

'_We don't want to hurt her. We have made her queen. She shall never grow old, as those Above shall grow old. Time shall not weary her; nor shall the years condemn. She shall be pure. The dream-child, ours, forever.'_

'_Why do you need a queen? You're the Looking Glass Children, you need nothing but your own hatred.'_

'_We need a body,'_ sang the voices in a chilling chorus that made the hairs of the back his neck stand up.

He stared at them, sickened. He pulled Alice closer, nearly supporting her weight; she was still limp and blank. He thought frantically, trying to come up with some escape plan, some form of attack or defence, anything. Then Edith spoke, her voice small.

'Why Aunt Alice? Why did you take her?'

The voices laughed, screeching like nails on a chalkboard.

'_She was so easy to take. So easy to lead astray. Make the sound of a small child crying as she passes through the Hall and she'll come running. Besides. She was all-purpose bait. Anyone would go to the ends of the earth for Alice.'_

'_Every threat, every person who could be a danger, all drawn so perfectly into the web by their own weak hearts,' said another voice._

'_They'd follow her to the ends of the earth,'_ said another.

'_The Mad Hatter would.'_

'_And the Dormouse would follow the Hatter.'_

'_And the little niece would lead a fuse line straight to the Queen.'_

'_Straight to the White Queen of Underland!'_

'_The niece would follow her aunt, and the kitchen boy would follow the niece, and the Queen would follow the kitchen boy like one of her own kin.'_

'"The kitchen boy follow the niece"?' Edith looked ready to laugh through her tears. 'Are you talking about me and Pig? Pig? Follow me?'

There was a small silence.

'_Yes. We thought … we relied on you being more like dear Alice. So charming and pretty and easy to love. You weren't quite the cherub we expected.'_

Edith's fists balled, shaking at her sides with white knuckles.

'_A minor mistake on our part. We saw he wouldn't love you so we created someone he would. A missing link to fill the gap.'_

'That's why you needed Isolda to follow us,' he said faintly, 'to get Pig to follow us. To manipulate the Stone to work for us.'

'_And to get the White Queen to follow Pig.'_

'_And we've won.'_

'No, you haven't.' The Hatter turned to look at Edith as she spoke. The girl was trembling with fear, the tears tracks still on her cheeks, her eyes red from crying. Still she stepped forward, her anger growing. 'It's not over yet.'

'_There's no one left to save you!' _The Children laughed wildly, echoing from all directions. _'You're going to die. Just like your grandmother, and your dear mother. And with the Queen's crown in our hands, we will control all of Underland. Don't you know anything? Once you capture the queen, the game is over.'_

'No, it's not over!' Edith shouted.

'_You're just the little girl who ran away when her mother needed her the most,'_ taunted the voices, _'you ran away because she scared you and you'll run away when we scare you.'_

'I'm not running away, I'm standing and fighting!'

'We both are,' said the Hatter, finding his voice. He stood straighter; still half-supporting Alice, one arm wrapped around her. 'We found Alice and we're not letting her go.'

Edith joined him, wrapping her own arm around Alice.

'_And you'll have to kill us to get her,'_ he said, raising his head as they stood together, supporting Alice between them.

'_You won't be going anywhere,'_ said the voice almost lazily, _'not without this.'_

A shadow sprung forth, producing a sphere of golden light. Pictures, hazy and shining, moved within the sphere, flashing every now and then. Tarrant caught sight of his own face within the ball, smiling widely as he lifted his hat.

'What's that?' said Edith, but Tarrant already knew what it was.

'Alice's memories,' he said, watching transfixed as more and more pictures moved within the sphere; images of teacups and sunsets, an ocean stretching into the horizon, a marketplace bustling with people, a large-nosed redhead going down on one knee, a woman with dark blonde hair laughing, a man kissing another girl behind a hedgerow, the Jabberwock roaring, the Hatter talking, the Hatter looking up from the table, his eyes shifting colours, rushes heaped in a row boat, his face distraught and then surprised as she leaned in to kiss his cheek …

Before he knew it his free hand had reached out, stretching into the air for the glowing sphere.

'She hasn't forgotten me.' The words were breathed like a prayer.

'What are you doing?' he heard Edith yelp, but it didn't quite register. Just as his fingertips were nearing the sphere, fire erupted between him and the ball of memories.

He snapped out of it instantly, shaking his head, and was just in time to force both Edith and Alice down as every mirror in the Hall exploded into a million shards.

'Keep your head down,' he shouted as glass rained down on them.

'I wasn't intending to do otherwise,' Edith shouted back, and he was relieved to hear that she was good and cross.

The Looking Glass Children were screaming. The sound filled Tarrant's ears until they felt ready to explode. The tinkle of falling glass quietened and something whooshed over their heads, scorching the back of his neck.

He lifted his head. A ball of fire was dancing around the three shadows, who were batting at it, enraged and shrieking. It was one very cocky ball of fire. It flitted to and fro, right past the Children's noses.

'_Get it! Get it!'_ With a high-pitched scream the shadows suddenly merged into one huge shadow, which stretched up, higher and higher on the wall over the fire. Finally it came crashing down; foamy sea water, deep blue and in one thick wave. The fire barely darted out of the way, taken by surprise. The water hit the floor and washed around Tarrant, Edith and Alice, standing in the centre of the room. Edith cried out and Tarrant shifted uneasily, but the water had other things to think about besides them.

The fireball was doing a little dance over the top of the water. The water licked up at it in annoyance, only to find its opponent had suddenly, (and rather cheekily, Tarrant thought), become a large sponge. The water recoiled from it, slithering away into a corner and forming into a very solid and giant pair of silver scissors, which went chomping towards the sponge. Tarrant pulled Edith and Alice out of the way as the scissors went to chop the sponge clean in half. Just as the scissors neared the sponge however, the sponge became grey and hard and distinctly rock-shaped. It slammed down on the floor, creating cracks where the scissors had just dodged the blow, darting into the air above the rock.

The scissors hovered there for a second, then turned red-hot. Slowly they melted into lava, dripping onto the rock, which quivered and shrank. It shrank from the size of a boulder to the size of a pebble rapidly, then seemed to pop out of being all together.

There was a dreadful silence. Edith was clutching the Hatter's arm, cutting off his circulation. He could hear Alice breathing quietly beside him, even and completely unaffected by the whole display.

The lava had pooled smugly on the floor. Suddenly, it twitched. The Hatter leaned forward, watching eagerly. It twitched again. Soon it was squirming about and the Hatter squinted to see a tiny, miniscule bug jumping about on it, seemingly impervious to the heat. The lava bubbled angrily, whirlpooling, and formed back together as a hairy, fat spider; crawling as fast as lightening over the floor towards the bug.

The bug grew in size, growing fur and a tail, and was soon a grey mouse, charging towards the spider with an open mouth. The spider immediately veered off course and keeled over, twitching and convulsing as it too transformed into a mouse.

No, not a mouse. A rat; twice the size of the mouse, black and oily. It advanced on the cowering mouse, casting an ominous shadow over it.

'Run!' shouted Edith, but the mouse seemed frozen to the spot in fear, unmoving.

As the rat opened its mouth gobble down its victim, the mouse looked straight past the rat to Tarrant, sprawled on the floor between Edith and Alice. Its eyes were glowing turquoise.

Tarrant felt a grin tug at his mouth. The mouse grinned back with pointed teeth, and the grin stretched and stretched. The rat backed away, uncertain, and the brief moment of hesitation proved fatal.

The mouse became nothing more than wispy gas and a widening grin which darted up above the rat, and the next second the grin was fleshed out by a familiar grey and blue striped face which became a blur as it dived at the rat and swallowed it whole.

Just as Tarrant let out the breath he had been holding, he heard a cracking sound.

Cracks were appearing in the walls around the Hall. Where the mirrors had stood was a yawning blackness, and that too was morphing like a distorted painting. There was a yell and two figures in white leapt from one of the closing gaps.

Tarrant had never seen the Queen look like this before. Her white hair was frazzled and she looked like someone bigger had picked her up and shaken her like a rag doll. Pig was running ahead of her, shouting encouragement.

Edith stood unsteadily as the ground shook, staggering over to Pig, shouting something unintelligible over the growing din of the breaking walls.

'I know what I want ...' mumbled a voice into his shoulder.

Alice was stirring next to him. Her face was slumped into his shoulder, and now she looked up him, blinking her eyes as if waking from a deep sleep.

'Hatter?' she said sleepily. 'Where's your hat?'

He stared at her, and all he could do was grin.

'Alice. It's you.'

He heard a familiar _voosh_ noise behind him and turned.

'Really, Tarrant,' said the Cheshire Cat, 'you're making a habit of needing to be saved by me.'

Tarrant grinned at him and stood, pulling Alice with him.

'I'll take it that means I'm forgiven then?' said the Cat. 'And we can stop all this nonsense about taking little jokes – malicious little pranks,' he backtracked hastily at the look of warning on the Hatter's face, 'more seriously than they're meant to be taken?'

'I suppose that's a fair agreement,' he began, but was cut off by the sound of the chandelier crashing to the ground. 'Oh dear.'

'Indeed,' said Chessur. 'You'll be wanting to run.'

With that he vanished into a thin smoke and disappeared.

'Are we in the Round Hall?' said Alice, still drowsy and confused, clinging to his hand like it was a plank of wood in a storm at sea. 'How did I get here?'

Tarrant opened his mouth to explain, then closed it and decided he would let Edith do the job for him instead. She was family, after all.

He and Alice crossed the room as it shook. A giant rumble split the wall in two and a huge crack appeared, large enough for them to slip through; white light was shining through it.

'I think that's the exit,' he said, and motioned to Pig, who seemed to be deep in an argument with Edith.

Alice frowned at the girl, 'Who is that? Is that ...?'

'Alice, you have to get out now, the Hall wants to repair itself –'

'And the Queen? Why is the Queen here?'

Mirana looked up and hurried over to them, taking Alice by the arm.

'I'll take her, Tarrant,' she said, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation.

Pig was pulling Edith towards the white crack, and the girl seemed to be fighting tooth and nail to get back through one of the black gaps.

'Tarrant, what's going on?' said Alice, looking from the Queen to Edith and Pig and back to him.

Tarrant pulled Pig up to them so that they all stood at the door.

'Where's Mally?' he said urgently. 'We have to go.'

'He left her behind!' shouted Edith furiously. 'He left her in one of the doors!'

'She's coming back, Edith,' said Pig, struggling with her, 'she went to trap the other creatures in one of the mirrors –'

'She's five inches tall, you idiot!'

Tarrant turned to the Queen.

'Take Alice,' he said, 'I'll take care of this.'

The Queen nodded and ushered the protesting Alice through the white gap, disappearing with a flash.

Edith had broken away from Pig and was running across the room towards the last open gap, slipping broken pieces of chandelier.

'Go,' said the Hatter to Pig, 'I'll get her.'

'But –'

The Hatter pushed him out of the crack and ran after Edith.

'Edith!'

She stopped and glared fiercely at him, standing by the last door.

'Wait for me,' he said, 'I'm coming too.'

Her expression softened and she nodded.

They jumped into the gap.

They were standing at the end of a corridor, which was shrinking rapidly even as they ran down it to the tiny door at the end. It was too small for either of them.

Edith let out a cry of despair.

'Mally!'

'Mally, we have to get out, the Hall is collapsing!'

Both of them struggled with the doorknob but the door held fast. They banged on the wood desperately.

'Mally!'

'Alright,' said Edith determinedly, pushing him out of the way, 'I'm going to try and lunge at it.'

Another unseen door opened with a creak behind them.

'Oh, anything but that,' said the Dormouse, slamming the door behind her.

They stared at her.

'You would not believe how many bloody sodding doors I've been through,' she complained.

'Where are the creatures?' spluttered Edith.

Mally shrugged.

'Stick them in a mirror and break the mirror, it's really not that complicated – Oi! What are you doing?' she yelped as the Hatter grabbed her and sprinted back up the corridor, Edith right behind him.

'Hall – collapsing – everyone out now,' she gasped as they ran. 'Had to – come back – you – being stupid.'

'Glad to hear you had faith in my abilities,' she retorted, then stopped. 'Wait - what; you came back for _me?_'

'No – we did it for fun,' Edith snapped.

They reached the end of the corridor and leapt out of the door just as it warped and shut behind them, and saw that the white gap, also, was closing.

'Faster!' Edith yelled, and the Hatter felt her shove him roughly through the gap.

There was a blinding flash of light, and he hung suspended in mid air for a second. The next thing he knew he was hitting the ground, the hand holding Mally flying out in front of him.

There was a chorus of shouts, and the sound of Edith crashing to the forest path somewhere near him.

'Ouch,' groaned Mally from his fist.

'Sorry,' he gasped, and released her. She tottered dizzily out of his palm before toppling over and sitting on the ground.

'I take back what I said about wanting to be saved. Give me some warning next time, alright, Hatter?' she said with a smile.

He sat up, feeling his own head spin.

'Tarrant!'

'Are you alright?'

'Hatter?'

He was surrounded by concerned-but-distinctly-happy-to-see-him faces. The tree the door had been set into was now nothing more than a blackened stump, and Edith was sitting up in front of it, slightly cross-eyed and green.

Pig helped him to his feet, but before he could even open his mouth to speak, his view of the world was obscured by flying blonde curls as Alice threw herself at him in a hug.

'Hatter, you won't believe how glad I am to see you.'

A happy little sigh escaped him as he wrapped his arms around her.

'Alice, I do believe I'm just as glad to see you; in fact, I've never been gladder to see you, though I was always glad to see you; especially now I haven't seen you in quite some time, and now you're _you_ with all your memories back of course so I really am glad, quite happy to –'

'Hatter.'

'Find ...'

* * *

Edith sat by the stump as everyone crowded around the embracing Hatter and Alice, full of questions and answers and conversation. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her worn coat was pulled tight around her shoulders.

_If I can find Wonderland, I can find Aunt Alice._

_If I can find Aunt Alice, I can bring her back home._

_If I can bring her back home, she can fix Mother._

She had found Wonderland, and she had found Aunt Alice. But there was no point bringing her home, because there was no Mother to fix anymore.

She felt a crushing wave of despair. How would she go back now, to a father who didn't want her? She watched Alice from afar, laughing and talking animatedly.

Alice didn't know that her mother and sister were dead.

Edith felt like crying again.

'What? No scowl?'

She jumped as the Cheshire Cat appeared beside her.

She tried to smile at him.

'Thanks ... for what you did there.'

'I did it for my own amusement,' he said, floating lazily before her. 'Let it be known that I was _not_ playing the hero.' He disappeared and reappeared at her feet, tail curling on the ground. 'Why the long face? You found Alice, everyone has a group hug, we all go home happy.'

Edith sighed heavily.

'Really, Eliza – Edwina –'

'It's Edith,' she snapped crossly.

'There we are,' he grinned.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

'I've been watching, you know,' he said, his body vanishing and his head rolling to hover above her shoulder, 'it's been quite interesting. And by now, well, I'd be disappointed in you if you were anything but bad-tempered, tactless, and downright rude.'

'You ...' she glared at him, clenching her fists.

'That's more like it,' he said and disappeared again. She started as he popped back into being on her other side. 'Go say hello to your aunt.'

'What am I supposed to say? I haven't seen her in seven years, I don't think "so how have you been" is going to do.'

'Better than sitting here and moping,' he said, somehow managing to shrug without shoulders. 'No time for tears today, Edith. Snap out of it.'

He disappeared with a final pop.

Edith looked over at the crowd. Pig was handing the Stone back to the Queen, and the Hatter was putting his hat back on his head. Mally was tugging on the end of Alice's skirt, and pointing to Edith. Alice looked surprised, then slowly made her way over to Edith.

'Edith?' she said, uncertain as Edith herself felt. 'Edith Manchester?'

'Yes?' she said. She didn't really know what else to say.

Alice saved her by rushing at her with a hug. Something long buried deep inside Edith emerged, and she gripped her aunt tightly, swallowing a lump in her throat as she breathed in her familiar smell. It was the scent of many afternoons spent sitting in Aunt Alice's lap, her voice weaving stories of wonder. It was the scent of her childhood; when Mother still smiled and Grandmother still laughed and her father was a far off and distant problem that she didn't have to worry about. Even as she breathed it in Aunt Alice pulled back and the smell was gone as quickly as it came, and all that was left lingering was the dread of the moment when she would have to tell Alice everything that had happened to their family. But for now her aunt smiled at her and held her by the shoulders, looking over her as they knelt on the ground.

'Let me look at you.' Her smile faltered briefly, and though Edith thought she must have imagined it, Aunt Alice's voice quavered as she said with bright eyes, 'Goodness, how you've grown.'


	17. Home

**Disclaimer**:

For six months now I've written this,

And nothing else besides,

It's really quite ridiculous,

It isn't legally mine.

And now I'm feeling quite relieved,

To get this off my shelf,

This chapter and an epilogue,

And I can _finally_,

Write something else.

* * *

**_CHAPTER SIXTEEN – HOME_**

Alice and Edith stayed at Marmoreal for nearly three and a half months. After the whole ordeal of looking for her aunt had passed, the shock of her grandmother and mother's death had hit her again; and once she had blurted out the terrible news to Alice, the woman had shut herself in her room in the White Castle, refusing to see anyone.

Pig and the Queen had watched sadly as Edith trailed around the castle hallways, looking like a lost sheep, Mally trying to strike up conversation on her shoulder; and as the Hatter sat outside Alice's room silently, sewing hats as he waited for Alice to open the door.

But, as grief does if one lets it, the sorrow slowly trickled away in Edith's case. The girl was soon to be seen play-sword-fighting in the courtyard with Mally, though one had to squint to see her as she had taken a large dose of ulpelkuchun beforehand.

In Alice's case however, it took a shock to snap her out of her mingled grief and guilt. She opened the door to her room finally, only to find the Hatter asleep in the hallway outside, head nodded over a pile of decorated hats.

'Hatter? What are you doing out here?'

He had woken immediately, jumping to attention and looking up at her rather like a startled rabbit, green eyes wide.

'Me?' he said, gesturing to himself though there was no one else in the hallway. 'Oh, I was just ... I was simply ... I like to move around the castle when I make hats sometimes. It gets awfully boring staying in the same room.' He smiled timidly up at her from under his hat and corkscrew red hair, the picture of tentative innocence.

Alice nodded, biting her lip. She stepped over him and walked down the hallway through the castle to find the White Queen.

'How long has he been sleeping outside my door and why didn't anyone tell me?' she demanded by way of greeting.

'I expect because no one could get inside the door to tell you, Alice,' said the Queen, gently reproving as she oversaw fabric for a new dress. 'No, not this one, thank you.'

Alice huffed, turned on her heel and left without another word. As she climbed the stairs to the hallway where her bedroom was situated, she heard a hasty scuffling noise, and rounded the corner to see the Hatter was still there, a few doors down from hers, whistling innocently as he sewed hats.

Alice shut herself in her room once more, but the next morning she was at breakfast, making hesitant conversation with her friends.

The Queen was glad to observe that Alice was eating properly, and Pig wanted show her his mastery of the French toast recipe she had brought down for him years ago. Edith had already wolfed down her breakfast and was now running along the tabletop the same height as Mally, who was chasing after her yelling at her not to step in anybody's eggs.

'Could someone pass me the salt, please?' Alice said, peering up the length of the table.

A hand with bandaged fingertips offered the shaker to her.

Alice caught his eye and smiled.

'Thank you,' she said softly, and the Hatter knew she wasn't just thanking him for passing the salt.

Three days later Alice could be observed laughing as she watched Edith duelling Pig in the courtyard. Three months of practice hadn't improved her skills, and she was still stuck on lunging. After being badly beaten by Pig, (and this was saying something, as Pig had a tendency to turn and run from anything which so much as poked him), she sat herself down on the ground, glaring at his back as he walked away triumphantly.

'You'll be good someday, Edie –'

The next thing he knew "Edie" had thrown aside her stick with a clatter and launched herself at his retreating back with a battle-cry, yanking on his hair.

'Ouch! I was teasing you – get off!'

'It's good to see you laugh again,' said Tarrant as they watched from afar, sitting on a picnic blanket on the grass nearby.

Alice looked at him. His hat was sitting beside him, and he was leaning back in the dappled shade of the trees, watching her.

'I'm sorry I've been so distant these few weeks,' she sighed, turning her body to face him.

Tarrant smiled sadly, 'I know how you must be feeling. Trust me, I behaved much worse than you when ...' he trailed off into silence.

'Still,' she protested, head down, 'I shouldn't have ... if I'd known you were waiting outside –'

He shushed her, leaning forward.

'Alice. I don't mind waiting.'

Slowly she lifted her head to meet his eyes. They were close to hers; their noses were nearly touching. Her heart was thudding loudly as she waited for him to move away. It had been seven years. Surely she'd missed her chance.

He didn't move away. His eyes were turning blue – blue as the sky overhead the day he had taken her on the boating trip.

'ACK!'

Both Alice and the Hatter jumped in surprise as Pig came careening straight into them, Edith clinging to his back like a stubborn limpet.

He hit the picnic blanket between them, rolling around.

'Get her off me!' he cried in mock-fear. 'She's going to strangle me –' he made a glugging, over-acted choking noise, grasping at the hands Edith had hooked around his neck to hold on.

Edith laughed like a three year old as Pig pretended to choke and die, twitching on the blanket. Neither of them noticed the magnificent red and pink colours the two adults were turning.

A week later Edith became quiet and reclusive, staying holed up in her room alone for hours on end. Both Pig and Mally were at a loss as to what was wrong with her, but Alice had her suspicions. Which she discovered to be correct when she happened upon Edith and Mally at the end of the week, arguing in one of the halls.

'Why would you want to go back up _there?_' Mally was saying in utter disbelief and disgust, as if Edith had suggested an excursion to a rubbish-polluted swamp. 'All your friends are down here!'

'Well, maybe I have friends up there too, Mally, you don't know that,' Edith snapped, her arms firmly crossed.

'And your father –'

'You've never met my father, don't make assumptions about him!'

'I've heard _of_ him, though,' retorted the Dormouse, 'from Alice and from you.'

Edith looked at her despairingly.

'Mally,' she said, her voice breaking, 'he's my _father_.'

Mallymkun stared at her.

'Fine. Fine, go home, if that's where you think home is!' she shouted, and stormed away, not even seeing Alice.

'Mally!' cried Edith. 'I'll always visit, I just want to ...'

She sighed, turning away, then caught sight of Alice.

'Oh,' she said dully, 'hello.'

Alice smiled at her niece.

'Planning to go back?' she said lightly.

Edith didn't meet her eye.

'I'm ... well, yes.' Her ears turned red. 'You think it's silly, don't you?'

'No, not at all,' said Alice, putting a hand on her shoulder, 'I understand.'

Edith looked up at her and saw that she was sincere. One side of her mouth quirked upwards.

'You would, wouldn't you?'

And now the girl looked a little ... afraid. Still, she met her eyes with a determined gaze. Her mind was made up.

'Aunt Alice, I want to go back,' she said, 'but ... you don't have to come with me. If you don't want to.'

Alice pulled the last member of her family to her, hugging her so tightly she gasped.

'Thank you,' whispered Alice.

* * *

It had taken two noisy arguments with Edith and one quiet conversation with Alice to bring Mally around to the idea. Finally, the day came when Edith had tackled Pig with a goodbye hug, curtseyed clumsily to the Queen and apologised for something to do with sleeves which Alice didn't quite understand, and knelt to talk to Mally.

'I promise I'll visit,' she said very seriously.

'Don't you dare say "I'll be back before you know it",' said the Dormouse.

'Cross my heart and hope to die?'

Mally grimaced.

'I'll visit regularly, alright? At least once a fortnight. I'll get bored up there, anyway,' she grinned.

Mally smiled back, though it still looked more like a grimace.

'Take care of yourself, you big numpty,' she said gruffly.

Edith grinned wider and stood.

The Queen had opened a door in one of the towers. It was glowing with pale light, and would apparently spit Edith back out into the Overland.

'With maybe a couple of minor bumpings and scrapings,' Mirana had added with an airy smile.

'Well ...' Edith smiled nervously at Alice. They had talked the night before, but still Alice hugged her tightly. When she let go, Edith stepped back and turned to the open door. 'Bye,' she said, and disappeared into the light.

* * *

She found the Hatter sitting in the Tea Party Clearing. He had travelled there two days ago, when he had heard that Edith was planning to go home. Now he was sitting in his armchair at the end of the table, twirling something in his hand; his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

As she came closer Alice saw that it was a dandelion.

'What will you wish for, Hatter?'

He looked up slowly, the green eyes peeping out as they appeared under the brim. They watched her as she drew closer, closing the distance between them. Music crackled from the battered old gramophone, floating over the clearing.

'Wish for? I wish ...'

She drew her chair out beside him and took her place in it, folding her arms on the tabletop, her eyes never leaving his.

'Mally told me I should talk to you.'

'I thought you were going home,' he said hoarsely.

'I have gone home,' she replied.

He was silent for a moment, then a small smile grew into a grin.

She smiled back at him.

'Tarrant,' she said, 'do you know how to waltz?'

'How to ... how to waltz?' he echoed, thrown.

'It's a dance,' she said, pushing her chair back and standing. She offered a hand to him, and he took it uncertainly. 'Dance with me?'

She lead him around to stand with her in front of the gramophone.

'What do I do?'

'Well, you take one of my hands, like this,' she said, raising their joined hands in the air, 'and then you put your other hand on my waist.'

'I'm sorry, your what?' he said, obviously thinking he must have misheard.

'Here,' she said, guiding his hand to her waist.

'Where does your other hand go?' he asked almost fearfully.

'On your shoulder.' She rested it on his shoulder, and they stood there poised. 'And we step; _one_, two, three; _one_, two, three; _one_, two, three ...'

They both stepped inwards and bumped into each other; Alice stepped on his foot, and he stumbled.

'Sorry!' they both cried, and stumbled back.

They tried again, and this time Alice tripped over his foot. It would have been alright if the Hatter hadn't dived forward to steady her, but they bumped heads and toppled to the ground.

'I'm sorry,' said Alice, mortified, 'I'm not the best dancer, and I couldn't concentrate ...'

She stopped when she saw that the Hatter was laughing.

'What? It's not that funny,' she snorted, rubbing at her forehead.

He just laughed harder, oblivious.

Alice scooted closer to him, looking to get him back for laughing at her.

'What have I done to amuse you, dear?' she said sweetly, leaning close to him.

That shut him up. He stared at her, eyes uncertain once more, and she regretted it, feeling her cheeks burn.

'I'm sorry,' she said, sitting back from him, unable to meet his gaze. 'I shouldn't have ... it's been seven years, I know ...'

'Alice ...'

She took a deep breath, and began her hastily prepared speech. _No wrong words this time,_ she thought.

'Tarrant, you must hate me for the way I talked to you that day – I hate myself for it,' she said, talking to the ground before her, 'and I'm sorry. When you told me that story I didn't listen. All I could think about was my family. You said I could never grow old for you, and I thought I'd always be stuck as a little girl in your eyes, and I told myself you didn't – couldn't feel the way I did – but you stopped aging years ago and you said you were waiting for me, and then you said you loved me and I couldn't pretend that I didn't know that anymore. And I ... I couldn't pretend that I didn't love you. And I knew that meant I had to choose finally. You …or my family ...' she sighed helplessly, 'I didn't know what to do, Tarrant.' She forced herself to look up at him, afraid of what she would see.

'Alice.' He was frozen, eyes wide and green and filled with a cautious hope. 'You ...?'

Her own heart swelled with hope, and she leaned forward.

'That woman in your story,' she said, encouraged by the fact that he hadn't yet recoiled from her, 'she loved – loves him, Tarrant. She likes and cares for and loves him just as much as he loved her.'

The Hatter moved forward as she spoke, the look of someone hardly daring to believe what they were hearing dawning on his face. They were close now, and as Alice leaned forward their noses touched.

'Loves,' Tarrant corrected, in the final heartbeat before Alice closed the gap and kissed him on the lips.

It was a brief first kiss, soft and sweet, and when Alice pulled away she saw his eyes open bright blue. Her heart was thudding fit to burst with giddy happiness, and he pushed something into her hand. It was the dandelion.

'I don't need the wish now,' he smiled.

The music drifted over them as they lay back on the grass of the clearing, talking in low voices. The dandelion seeds blew away in the breeze, floating over the tea table into the sunshine of the golden afternoon.

* * *

A/N:

I'd like dedicate this chapter to a friend of mine,

Whose speculation soon became a source of my delight,

Your comments kind, to this young author,

Will never be forgotten, Laura. :)


	18. Epilogue

_**EPILOGUE** – The Fairytale

* * *

_

_**MARGARET HELEN MANCHESTER**_

_JUNE 8, 1863 – FEBRUARY 14, 1887_

_LOVING WIFE AND MOTHER_

Edith Margaret Manchester squatted by the graveside, pulling up fresh weeds with a vengeance. Her hair had escaped from its low bun at the back of her neck as she worked, falling into her eyes. Sixteen now, she was not much shorter than her father; tall and gangly and slouching. The hem of her dress was getting muddy, and she didn't care.

She stood up and admired her handiwork, placing the fresh bouquet of lilies on the grave as a finishing touch.

'There you are, Mother,' she whispered with a small smile.

She could remember the first time she had visited the grave with her father. It was only half a week after she had returned from Underland.

The trip back had been disorientating. She had vague and blurry memories of being fished out of the creek by a farmer and his stable hand, and being fed some kind of soup. The next day she had woken in an unfamiliar bed, and had been more than a little surprised to see her father sitting in a chair beside her, dishevelled, with shadows beneath his eyes. He had taken her home, had not put up an argument when she refused to sleep in her old room, and hadn't left the house "on business" or anywhere else. On Thursday she had asked him to take her to see her mother, and they had travelled some miles to the cemetery. They had stood together in the pouring rain as she stared at the tombstone, hardly able to believe it existed; the world blurring before her.

'She was very sick, Edith,' she could hear her father saying in the background, using the same tone all adults would use for an excuse. 'You're too young to understand. She was very tired and very ill, and there was nothing anyone could do. When you're older you'll know what I mean …'

His words faded into background noise, mixing with the pattering of the rain. She found that she couldn't bring herself to think about exactly why Mother had died, or whose fault it was or wasn't. She could only think about what she had been alive. And then she remembered that she didn't truly know.

'What was she like?' she asked her father, turning to look at him.

Her own dark eyes were mirrored back at her, and for a moment she shuddered involuntarily. He seemed to notice, and frowned slightly.

'She was ... wonderful,' he said slowly, 'once upon a time. She used to laugh and joke ... And she was very beautiful.'

Edith nodded, feeling her throat burn. She looked back at the grave, struggling not to cry in front of Father.

'Edith.' She felt his hand squeeze her shoulder hesitantly, and his voice changed from that of an adult, desperately grappling for excuses, to that of a father, trying to comfort his crying daughter. 'She loved you very much.'

'She loved you too,' she snapped back, unable to stop the accusation in her voice.

Father was silent. His hand slipped from her shoulder.

_You didn't deserve her._

Her head spun with memories of diamond necklaces and roadside flowers and elegant women in marketplaces.

Edith sighed.

_I know what you did. And you know that I know. So what is there left to say about it?_

'Father,' she croaked, and turned to wrap her arms around his waist.

To her surprise he returned the hug.

'I'm sorry, Edie.'

He stood patiently with her, her tears mingled with rain on his coat; holding her tightly as the rain fell down in thick, wet droplets, soaking them both to the bone.

Now Edith left the cemetery and boarded the carriage waiting for her outside, glad to be back in the warmth.

'Ready to go, Edith, dear?' said the red-haired woman sitting opposite her.

Edith nodded with a brief smile to her stepmother, watching out the window as her mother's grave disappeared from sight between the trees.

* * *

Chessur was hovering amongst the treetops when he heard the familiar noise of a pair of very sensible boots crunching through the undergrowth. He grinned to himself and spun into vapour-thin smoke, wafting down to float above Edith's head invisibly.

She raised a hand as if to brush away a fly as his wind stirred her hair, her brow furrowing.

'Scowling again, Edith,' he said, chuckling as she jumped half a foot in the air.

'Chessur! You ...' she hissed at him, and stalked off down the forest path.

'Come now, love,' he grinned, solidifying in front of her. 'We're old friends.'

She raised an amused and slightly sceptical eyebrow at him.

'Haven't you learnt your lesson on pranking old friends yet?' she said, but allowed him to pad along the ground beside her as she made her way to the Tea Party Clearing.

As usual, the tea party was in full swing when they arrived. This was evidenced by the fact that Thackery Earwicket was dancing the futterwacken on the tabletop.

'Broiled lobster's ready!' he hollered in delight when he saw Edith and Chessur emerge from the woods.

Already bored with walking, Chessur shot over to his place at the end of the table, peering into a cup and trying to decide whether it was safe to drink from.

'You really must do something about table hygiene, Tarrant,' he said to the opposite end of the table, where Tarrant Hightopp was sitting, Alice on his left. Chessur smirked as he noticed that their hands were joined underneath the table.

'_Take that smirk off your face, you scuttish Cat,'_ Tarrant called down to him, the smirk on his own lips taking away most of the usual effect of the brogue.

'Tarrant, such language in front of the ladies?' he tutted, sipping his tea delicately.

He saw Edith shoot him a threatening look, as if she would punch him if he called her a lady again. Ah, let her try. It might prove amusing.

'Don't push your luck, Cheshire,' she said, as if she'd read his thoughts.

'You'll cut yourself with those sharp little eyes of yours someday, Edith.'

Mallymkun jumped out of a teapot just before Thackery picked it up and hurled it at the Hatter and Alice. The pair ducked in perfect unison and returned to their conversation without batting an eyelid.

'Edith?' Her tiny face split into a grin when she saw her friend sitting before her.

The two fell into animated discussion, Edith full of news about her stepmother's pregnancy.

'Deborah wants "Pleasance" for a girl and "Ernest" for a boy,' said Edith, wrinkling her nose in disgust. 'Hopefully I can talk her into giving it a half decent middle name to nickname it. Speaking of ridiculous names, where's Pig? I've overtaken him, everyone,' she announced smugly to the table at large.

There was a thud and a squeaking noise that sounded rather like, 'Ow,' from beneath the table. After a moment Pig emerged from underneath the table top, white hair looking even more ruffled and electric than usual.

'Impossible,' he said, leaning one skinny arm on the table and massaging his forehead, where an angry red welt was throbbing.

'Thackery hit you with a teapot, didn't he? And it's not impossible.'

'No, no, he tried to make me dance with him and I fell off,' said Pig, wincing, 'and of course it's impossible.' He climbed to his feet, swaying slightly but puffing out his chest. 'Edie, you will never, ever – ever, ever, ever, ever, _ever_ – be taller than me.'

'We'll see about that,' she said with a challenging grin that showed every tooth in her mouth.

Pig shrugged. Thackery stopped dancing and sat down on the tabletop abruptly, watching eagerly as Edith stood and went to walk around the table. She seemed to change her mind halfway and climbed right over it instead, jumping down next to Pig on the other side. Both straightened themselves out as if hoping their very bones would elongate. Then Edith grinned. She was the tiniest, tiniest smudge of an inch taller than him.

'Hah!' she laughed in his face, stabbing his chest with a finger. 'And you said –'

Pig crossed his arms, unimpressed.

'Take off your boots.'

'What?'

'Take off your boots,' he repeated slowly, as if to a very small and stupid child.

Edith frowned, 'No.'

'Take them off, you cheat!'

'I don't need them to be taller than you!'

Recognising the signs of an argument, Chessur decided to hit the road before food started flying. He nodded to Tarrant, who inclined his head in return. Alice waved happily at him with a smile. Thackery was rocking back and forth, giggling as he watched Edith and Pig fight.

'You off then, Chess?' said Mally with a smile as he set his cup down.

'I think so,' he said, glancing at the arguing pair. 'I don't want cold ham in my fur again.'

'Fair enough – oi! Edith, what did I tell you about biting people!' Mally leapt into the fray, trying in vain to tear her friends apart.

Chessur grinned at the scene and evaporated, floating above the clearing and looking down at them as he drifted lazily away.

Edith wearing her trademark scowl, waist deep in an argument whilst Mally fiercely attempted to make her behave; Pig making a fool of himself and inevitably, at some point, having his head either grabbed in a headlock by Edith or used as target practice by Thackery; and Tarrant and Alice stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking. Afternoon sunlight glinting off the teacups and everything bathed in the liquid-gold warmth of summer, falling through the trees of the forest and pooling around the tea table and its motley crew of misfits. Old, crackly music playing in the background – the sound of nostalgia.

When he thinks of them in days to come, this is the way he always sees them all; together, beneath the dreaming sunshine, and utterly alive.

* * *

'_And though the shadow of a sigh,_

_May tremble through the story,_

_For "happy summer days" gone by,_

_And vanished summer glory –_

_It shall not touch with breath of bale,_

_The pleasance of our fairytale.'_

_-Lewis Carroll

* * *

_

**And by the way, my readers, dear,**

**Who stuck with this so far,**

**Who put up with my rhymes so queer,**

**Who took my words to heart,**

**Thank you, all who trod this trail,**

**I hope you liked my fairytale.**

_Story started sometime between March the 5th and March the 31st – finished on the 2nd of October, 2010._


End file.
